


The Losers Are Punks

by rowsbud



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Band Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Friendships, F/M, Friendship, Georgie is ALIVE, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, also prepare for a lot of music references, bc I love that kid, not really anyways, theres no pennywise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 06:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12475360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowsbud/pseuds/rowsbud
Summary: The losers are full of teenage angst and hate for their small town, so what do they do? They start a punk band.





	1. But We Haven't Been Introduced

**Author's Note:**

> hey! I really wanted to write this band AU and I thought about writing it to be a modern fic, but 90s music was calling my name. so, here ya go.
> 
> its along the same timeline as the 2017 movie, where they were kids in the 80s, and I based a lot of the characters on the movie versions (except I made mike a little more like the book version because I feel like his character was a little cheated in the movie sorry ok).
> 
> this fic starts off in their senior year of high school, but most of them aren't friends with each other yet. this first chapter is mostly introductions, but in the next few chapters I'll get more into the story. thanks for reading!
> 
> the title of this chapter is take from the song Boys and Girls by Blur which is mentioned in the fic. I made a playlist on 8tracks here: https://8tracks.com/rowsbud/the-losers-are-punks with some of the songs referenced in each chapter!

April 29, 1994

Beverly Marsh stood alone underneath the bleachers on Derry High School’s football field, cursing under her breath. Her hand trembled as she struggled to light her cigarette.

She was skipping last period so she could avoid Greta Bowie and her crew. Bev had been the subject of their nasty rumors and the target of their relentless teasing since middle school. Their most popular insult was ‘slut’, which Bev never bothered to dispute because she thought the term was misogynistic and idiotic. But she knew they’d be waiting for her after class. They always were.

She thought about just going home, as her father would still be at work, but lately her house just made her feel sick. The frigid weather of winter and spring was finally letting up a little, but her house still felt cold and isolated. She tried to spend as much time out as she could, which was difficult without any friends.

Once her cigarette was finally lit, Bev took in a big breath and exhaled a cloud of smoke. Her hand stopped shaking. She took a seat on one of the beams under the bleachers and slipped her scratched up Walkman cassette player out of the back pocket of her jeans.

Blondie’s _Parallel Lines_ album, her most played cassette since she salvaged it from a garage sale when she was thirteen, was set in the player. Bev had instantly fell in love with Debbie Harry’s vocals, which were angry and tough, instead of the soft and sweet sound she’d always heard from pop music. Since then, she’d discovered more amazing female vocalists, but she always seemed to return to Blondie. She was about to slip the headphones that hung around her neck onto her ears when she heard a loud chaotic mixture of horns and drums.

Bev peeked through the bleacher seats to see the school’s marching band practicing out on the field. Everyone in the band was looking at a short teenage boy carrying a drum she thought looked too tall for him on his chest. It was only then that Bev noticed two laughing boys seated on the bleachers above her.

 

Eddie Kaspbrak was distracted. His drumming practice was taking up all his time lately, much to his mother’s dismay. She’d be perfectly happy if he never had any hobbies and never left the house, forever under her supervision, her control. She had reluctantly bought him a drum kit, as he told her it would help him improve for the band. Secretly, he wished to play beyond just the confines of Derry High’s marching band, aching to release all of his nervous energy onto the drums and play faster, harder, wilder.

But now, even the basic rhythm he’d practiced was going to shit. With the amount of times he’d messed up that practice, you wouldn’t even be able to tell how much time he spent on it. The rest of the band glared at him as their band teacher stopped to tell him he was off beat. Like he didn’t already know.

The cause of his distraction was sitting on the bleachers, open notebook on his lap, mouth open wide in an obnoxious laugh. Richie Tozier. The boy made Eddie’s blood boil. He was too loud, too messy, too tall; Eddie had an endless list.

Eddie had never even had a real conversation with Richie, but he knew him by reputation. Richie worked on the school paper, writing some of the entertainment section and adding comedy wherever they’d let him. He was always one of the students doing the morning announcements over the intercom as well, using a variety of bad accents and so many inappropriate jokes that Eddie’s always surprised they let him back every morning.

Now the messy-haired boy sat watching the band through his thick glasses with the paper’s editor, Bill Denbrough. Bill was the nicest teenager Eddie had ever met. His auburn hair was always neat and he typically dressed in well-fitted clothes, a stark contrast to his friend.

Eddie couldn’t quite place why Richie threw him off. He felt a weird pressure under his gaze. He thought maybe it was because the boy was laughing and making jokes, possibly at Eddies expense. Or it was the fact that the two reporters were there to write an article for the paper, which would be read by the whole school. Nevertheless, Eddie still couldn’t get into the music, causing the frustrated band teacher to bench him for the time being.

Eddie sighed, headed to the bleachers, and took his inhaler out of his pocket. He inhaled as he sat on the first seat of the bleachers, dumping his drum beside him.

 

Richie Tozier’s mouth contorted into a smile as a small teenager in a dorky band uniform sat four rows in front of him and Bill.

“Love the outfit!” Richie called out to him. The boy simply turned his head to glare at him, and then looked to Bill.

“Hi, Bill.”

Richie turned to Bill, confused, “Bill, you know this peewee?”

“Hey, Eh-Eddie.” Bill smiled, following Eddie’s lead in ignoring Richie.

Richie turned his attention back to the band, crossing his arms and pouting slightly. As Bill and Eddie continued in mindless chatter about school, or the paper, or something, Richie’s eyes scanned the field.

“Why’d they kick you to the curb, Eds? Not good enough for our prestigious marching band?” Richie asked, and observed that the sounds coming from the band were just as bad as before.

“My name’s Eddie” The boy huffed, “And I was off beat.”

“It still sounds pretty shitty to me.” Richie shrugged.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like high school marching bands are known for being good. Or interesting.” Eddie rolled his eyes and turned back to face the field.

“Oh yeah? Now you’re too good for marching band?” Richie smirked, “Who do you think you are, Dave Grohl?”

Eddie whipped around, an unamused look on his face as he asked, “Who?"

“Dave Grohl? Jesus, you’re a drummer and you don’t know Dave Grohl.” Richie shook his head in mock dismay, “Drummer for Nirvana?”

Eddie looked embarrassed and let out a small, “Oh.”

“What about John Bonham? Do you at least know him?” Richie asked.

Eddie shook his head ‘no’ sheepishly.

“He was the drummer for Led Zeppelin! Even more of a legend.” Richie exclaimed.

Eddie quickly turned back to face the field in an attempt to hide his flushed face.

“Don’t worry, Eddie Spaghetti, I’ll give you a music education.” Richie grinned, starting to move to take a seat next to him. Bill sat watching the whole thing, amused smile on his face.

“Eddie Spa-? Don’t call me that, asshole.” Eddie sputtered and crossed his arms, “And why do you want to give me a music education anyway?”

“Because, Eddie, old chap, you have potential.” Richie used his infamous fake British accent.

“Potential for what?” Eddie asked wearily, taking out his inhaler once more.

“The potential to be the drummer for my band! I’ve been looking for one, and any drummer in my band has to know their shit.” Richie explained, now seated next to Eddie. Up close, Richie could see the freckles that decorated the bridge of Eddie’s nose. Richie reached over to Eddie’s cheek and pinched, “Cute, cute, cute!”

Eddie was sure his face was as red as a tomato as he shook Richie’s hand off of him. “Oh yeah? Why would I want to be in your band, trashmouth?”

“You said it yourself, marching band is boring.” Richie reasoned, and then turned back to Bill. “Plus, Bill’s in the band. Aren’t you, Bill?”

“I s-s-said if you could p-put together the rest of the band then I’d be a p-part of it.” Bill gave them a half-smile and shrugged.

“Great, well, if Eddie joins, then we’ll only need a couple more people, and we’ll have a band!” Richie said and continued to talk about the band a mile a minute, while Eddie looked to Bill, confused.

“I’ll join.” A voice offered. In front of Richie and Eddie stood Beverly Marsh. The sun shone on her short ginger hair, and her blue eyes had a mischievous glint in them. All three boys looked at her with open mouths and wide eyes.

“Great!” Richie exclaimed, “It’s all coming together.”

Eddie’s face twisted in confusion, “Wait, you’re going to let her join just like that? No audition?”

“Aw, Eddie, you do care!” Richie cooed at the boy.

“God, you’re such a dick.” Eddie rolled his eyes, “Oh, whatever, I’m invested in this band now.”

“Well, _you_ didn’t have to audition. Should we make the both of you do it?” Richie questioned innocently.

“What are you talking about? You saw me play on the field right over there.” Eddie said, exasperated.

"It's not like you were doing a very good job out ther-ow!" Richie rubbed his arm where Eddie had punched him. "I'm just saying." He said defensively, "You're mean, Spaghetti Man."

Bill took this as an opportunity to interrupt him, “Well, l-look, none of us are super great. But over t-time, we'll improve. So maybe we sh-shouldn’t be concerned with auditions right now." He reasoned, naturally and unknowingly falling into the role of leader of the band.

"We don't even know if she plays an instrument." Eddie said quietly, only then turning to Bev, "No offense." Bev raised an eyebrow and opened her mouth to respond.

"It doesn't matter, she's a girl. She'll bring in people without even needing to open her mouth." Richie supplied.

“Asshole, please don’t objectify me.” Bev spit out, pausing before adding, “I play the bass."

Bill stood and climbed over the bleachers to get to where Bev stood, hands on hips. "I'm B-Bill." He stuck his hand out and smiled.

Bev smiled back, "I know. You work on the school paper, right?" She took his hand in a firm grip and shook it once before letting go.

"T-that's r-right." Bill replied, letting his hand drop back by his side.

"I'm Beverly, but just call me Bev." She glanced at all three boys, a wide smile gracing her lips.

 

Stanley Uris was seated at the piano in the music room. He knew no one would be in there after school on a Friday, except for maybe the music teacher. Stan preferred it that way. He took solace in the empty room often, not yet wanting to go home but also The room was quiet save for the delicate and dulcet tones that came from Stan's long fingers hitting the black and white keys. Stan could finally relax here, alone and submerged in the sounds of the piano. Playing was one of his favorite things to do, second only to bird watching.

His parents started taking him to lessons when he was young, and after years of practice, he played with ease and grace. Although, Stan still felt unsatisfied with his playing. He always had trouble when things didn't come naturally to him, as he would put an insurmountable amount of pressure on himself to be perfect.

Stan was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. Stan jumped and his hands flew off the keys as he turned to face whoever had interrupted him, looking as if he'd been caught doing something illegal.

Bill Denbrough stood there, looking at Stan intently. “S-sorry to scare you, Stan. I d-d-didn't know you played p-piano." He said warmly.

"Yeah, well uh, we're not that close.” Stan replied plainly. He was perplexed as to why Bill was interested.

The two weren't close, that was true, but they had known each other since elementary school. Bill was always friendly to Stan, and Stan tried to be cordial back, but he just wasn't very skilled at making friends. He tended to be quiet and sarcastic, which often caused people to view him as a snob.

"Th-that was really a-amazing." Bill smiled, nodding at the piano.

“Thanks, Bill." Stan nervously fumbled with his hands.

Bill looked like he was thinking, looking from Stan to the piano, and back to Stan. Stan felt his face flush under Bill's gaze. He pushed some curls out of his face and stared at the floor.

"D-do you want to j-join my band?" Bill finally blurted out, giving Stan a nervous, lop-sided grin.

Stan looked back up at him, asking, “Uhh, what?"

"M-my band. We could really use s-s-someone on the piano, or, the k-keyboard I guess." Bill started walking over to where Stan sat on the bench, his blue eyes were blinking slowly and looking at the piano like he was developing a plan.

"I didn't know you were in a band." Stan’s eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah, w-well, we're not that c-close." Bill echoed Stan's own words back to him.

"Right." Stan nodded slowly, still processing all that Bill was telling him. He had a hard time imagining Bill in a band, with his shirts tucked into his fitted jeans and his neatly combed hair.

"Just c-come check us out if you can. We're p-practicing at 6 tonight in my garage." Bill placed a hand on Stan's shoulder.

"Th-think about it." Bill gave Stan one last kind smile and walked out of the music room, leaving Stan alone once more.

 

Mike Hanlon sat by himself in the Derry Public Library, reading a science-fiction book that he picked from the shelf at random. Mike was sure he'd read all the books in the library by now, as when he was not working on his family's farm, he was there.

Mike was homeschooled, and the farm where he lived was just outside of town. This resulted in Mike having no friends unless you count sheep, which he didn't. Although they did happen to be great listeners, better than Mike's grandfather at least.

Not that Mike disliked his grandfather, not by any means. He loved him, after all he had raised him, but sometimes his traditional values and old way of thinking got in the way of Mike having a life.

The books in the library provided a means of escape for Mike. They were all about people going on amazing adventures, something that Mike secretly craved. But Mike felt that he could never do that to his grandfather, he could never really leave Derry. So for now, he had his books.

Mike rarely saw anyone younger than fifty among the shelves, however, today a teenager sat at a table a few feet from Mike’s, nose buried in a book. He’d seen him on several other occasions, sticking out like a sore thumb among the elderly patrons and middle-aged librarians. Mike had noticed that he usually checked out poetry books, although sometimes he had engineering or architecture books with him.

He was stocky, and it looked like his body was finally starting to thin out after years of being overweight. The librarians all seemed to know him, as they often chatted to him about whatever he happened to be reading that day. However, that afternoon, he had a pair of black headphones covering his ears, and a Walkman placed on the table beside his book.

Mike always imagined going over and talking to the boy, finally making a friend. They both liked to read, obviously, which was a good start, and Mike liked to think that he was an easy guy to get along with, as he tried to be courteous and open to everyone.

The boy turned the book in such a way that allowed Mike to glance at one of the pages. Mike immediately recognized it as the lone history book about the town of Derry. Mike remembered it because he’d spent hours poring over the sepia photographs and diary entries from past Derry residents. He found most of it to be eerie, but intriguing.

Mike stood up eagerly, feeling like the book was the perfect conversation starter. He sat across from the boy, causing him to glance up questioningly.

Mike tried to give him an earnest smile as he said, “Kind of creepy, right?”

“What?” the boy took his headphones off his head and stopped the cassette in his Walkman.

Mike pointed to the book, “Creepy, right?”

“Oh yeah, totally creepy. Check this out.” He showed him the picture he had been looking at, a dismal scene of a carnival. Everyone in the photo looked miserable, except for a demented looking clown in the center of the crowd.

“Believe me, I know. I think I’ve read the book five times by now.” Mike smiled sheepishly, realizing he probably sounded like a huge dork. “I’m Mike.”

“I’m Ben.” Ben said, seemingly unbothered by Mike revealing how big of a history nerd he was.

The two teenagers proceeded to look through the book together for the next hour, laughing and getting shushed by the librarian, something neither of them had ever experienced before. This only made them laugh harder.

Ben glanced at the clock on the wall behind them, and his face fell. “I have to go. My mom wants me to stop by the store and get some groceries before dinner.”

Mike nodded understandably, “I should probably get going too.”

“Hey, do you go to Derry High? I haven’t seen you around, but we should hang out at lunch or something.” Ben smiled at him, gathering up his books and Walkman before placing them in his backpack.

“No, I’m homeschooled.” Mike sighed, “But I’m usually here at the library.”

“Alright, well I’ll see you around Mike.” Ben swung his blue JanSport over his shoulder. Ben pushed through the library doors after waving goodbye to the attending librarian, Mrs. Starrett.

Mike stood to put his science fiction novel back on the shelf when he noticed a crumpled piece of paper underneath the chair Ben had been sitting in. Picking it up, he flattened it on the table and saw what looked like a poem written in large, looping letters. Mike considered not reading it, as he assumed it was Ben’s and probably private, but his curiosity took over. He read through the poem and was struck by the words. Each line carried such weight and truth that Mike felt it deep in his chest, which had never happened when he read poetry in the past.

Mike folded the paper neatly and pocketed it in his jeans. If he ran into Ben again, as he hoped he would, he’d return the poem and hopefully the kid wouldn’t die of embarrassment.

Mike strolled over to the shelves to file his book, and left the library, bidding Mrs. Starrett goodbye on his way out. Squinting at the landscape and shielding his eyes from the late spring sun, he started on the long walk home.

 

Bill Denbrough’s hands tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the song playing on the radio. He hadn’t ever heard it before, but it was catchy. Richie reached over from the passenger seat to turn the volume up.

_Girls who are boys_

_Who like boys to be girls_

_Who do boys like they're girls_

_Who do girls like they're boys_

_Always should be someone you really love_

“What does that even mean?” Eddie asked from the backseat, listening to the chorus.

“It means everybody’s fucking. Boys and girls, boys and boys, girls and girls, and everything in between.” Richie laughed. Eddie recoiled at the crude way Richie had so delicately put it.

“I think it’s about girls that are like men in the sense that they’re reckless and careless with sex, much like men are stereotyped to be, while the men act like stereotypical girls, wanting something long term and falling hard for the other person.” Beverly added.

Richie pondered this for a moment. “Yeah, that could be. I don’t get why there are such stereotypes around sex anyway. It’s stupid. It’s just sex.”

Bill could see Eddie’s face in the rearview mirror turning red, arms crossed over his sky blue sweater. Bev met Bill’s eyes in the mirror and gave him a knowing look before she glanced back to Eddie and Richie. Bill smiled at his friends, old and new.

He was driving the group back to his house for some sort of “band practice” at Richie’s insistence. Richie seemed to take it all very seriously, urging them to think of possible names for the band and figure out what their “image” should be.

“We should totally write music about that sort of stuff. Society…stereotypes…rebelling…that’d be bitchin’.” Richie said as he put his feet up on the dashboard.

“A-are you going to w-write these songs?” Bill asked in an amused voice, eyes focused back on the road.

As the song on the radio came to an end, and the disc jockey’s cartoonish voice announced, “And that, dear listeners, was Girls and Boys. The first track from UK band Blur’s newest album, Parklife.” The jockey’s voice faded out as Bill turned the dial down.

“Well, I’m not much of a writer.” Richie shrugged and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“You literally write for the school newspaper.” Eddie said, voice hinting at his annoyance.

“How’d you know that, Eds? Are you one of my many secret admirers?” Richie asked sweetly, “And besides, I write comedy. I don’t want people to laugh at our songs.”

“Y-you’re a better writer than you g-give yourself credit for, Rich.” Bill smiled, “But writing songs could be a t-team effort.”

“What instruments do you guys play, anyway?” Bev asked, slipping some round black sunglasses over her pale blue eyes.

“We’re both on guitars.” Richie replied, coolly lying back in the seat with his hands behind his head. Then, he sat up with such gusto that Bill thought he could’ve gotten whiplash.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed, staring at something down the alley to their right.

“What? What i-is it?” Bill asked frantically.

“Pull over,” Richie said, “the Bowers gang has someone trapped in the alley.”

Bill pulled up next to the sidewalk, leaping out of the car with Richie as soon as he took the keys out of the ignition. The two were very familiar with Henry Bowers and his friends. They were total burnouts that had graduated a couple years ago, but still hung around Derry and acted like the immature bullies they’d been since elementary school.

Beverly followed their lead, with Eddie trailing nervously behind them all. They reached the alleyway to see four guys crowded around a scared looking black teenager. His face was decorated with sweat, and he was breathing heavily. Henry held him by the collar and was sneering in his face, while Patrick Hocksetter was holding the boy’s backpack hostage, rifling through it.

“Bowers!” Bill yelled, hands turning into fists by his sides.

Henry turned to face the newcomers, still holding onto the younger boy and looking predatory.

“Fuck off, Denbrough.” Belch Huggins spat out, then proceeded to literally spit at their feet.

“Let him go, dickwads.” Richie yelled, slowly raising his fists in front of him. The tormentors all snickered and looked at each other.

“Or what? Three fags and a little slut are-“

Henry was promptly cut off mid sentence by a solid punch to the nose, courtesy of Bev. He howled in pain and let go of the teenager’s shirt. Blood gushed from his face while his gang stood frozen in shock.

“Bitch!” He yelled and lurched forward, clearly hoping to grab hold of one of them, but rendered unable by the blood pouring out of his nose.

“Come on!” Bill yelled to the teenager, waving at him to follow. The teen grabbed his backpack off of the ground where Patrick had dropped it and ran behind Bill. They all sprinted towards Bill’s silver 1990 station wagon, the Bowers gang hot on their trail.

“Go, go, go, go!” Eddie squealed once they were all piled in the car. Bill fumbled with his keys, but was finally able to start the engine. He quickly pulled back onto the street, leaving the bullies in their dust.

“Yeah, that’s right!” Richie exclaimed as he leaned out of the passenger seat window. “Go blow your dad, you mullet wearing asshole!” He gave the gang two middle fingers before settling back into his seat.

Eddie held his hand over his heart and shut his eyes tightly. He used his other hand to pull out his inhaler.

Bev was cradling her bloody fist, although if it was her blood or Bower’s blood, Bill couldn’t tell. She was cursing under her breath and clenching her teeth.

“That was fucking unbelievable, Bev.” Richie praised, readjusting his thick black framed glasses.

Bev laughed, “Thanks, Richie.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Said the new addition to the group. “I’m Mike, by the way.”

 

Ben Hanscom had always had trouble making friends. He got along fantastically with adults, who saw him as a sweet, sensitive, and intelligent boy. This caused him to not be so popular with his peers, who tended to laugh at sweet and sensitive boys. Which is why Ben was more than happy to accept Mike as a new friend when he made it so easy for him to do so.

He had been sad to leave the library earlier, but looked forward to the next time he ran into Mike there. Ben tried to visit the library a few days a week after school. When he wasn’t able to go there, it was because he had to help his mother out at home by making dinner or he was working some odd job for one of their neighbors.

He usually mowed lawns or cleaned gutters, occasionally shoveling snow or raking leaves at the right time of year. He started doing this when he was sixteen, so he could save up to buy a car for him and his mom to share. After two years, he was able to buy the baby blue pickup truck Mr. O’Reilly had parked in his driveway with a handwritten "for sale" sign in the windshield. As well as providing him with some spending money, the manual labor also helped him build up some muscle. Ben had struggled with his weight since he was young, but he was finally starting to slim down a little.

Ben pulled the truck into his driveway, hopping out and gathering a few grocery bags in his arms. His mother greeted him when he stepped into the kitchen, where she had been washing dishes.

Ben was bringing the last of the bags inside the house when a silver car pulled up outside. Mike stepped out of the backseat, waving at Ben.

“Hey, Ben.” Mike called.

“Hi, Mike.” Ben greeted, utterly confused, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but uh, what are you doing here?”

Mike closed the door and began to walk towards him, pulling something out of his pocket. Ben looked around Mike and could see at least four faces in the car windows staring intently at the two.

“You left this at the library.” Mike said, handing Ben a piece of paper after he’d dropped his groceries to the ground. Ben unfolded it and cringed. It was a rough draft of a poem he’d meant to scrap.

“Thanks. Did you, uh, did you read it?” Ben asked, hopeful that he hadn’t.

“I did,” Mike sighed reluctantly, watching Ben’s face grow more nervous by the second. “But, please, don’t be embarrassed. You’re a really talented writer, Ben.”

“Thanks, Mike. I appreciate that, but it was only a rough draft.” Ben said, rubbing his forehead and sticking the poem in his back pocket.

“Is that all?” Ben asked after a moment.

“Well…no, actually.” Mike turned back to look at the faces in the car. One of them gave him a thumbs up and an over exaggerated smile.

“You see, I just recently joined a band. Like, it literally happened 10 minutes ago. We were talking about song writing, and all of us are sort of clueless when it comes to that stuff and, well, here we are.” Mike rambled sheepishly.

“I…don’t know what that has to do with me?” Ben replied.

“I told them about how I knew this great poet that was into music, and somehow they convinced me that I needed to ask, or beg, you to join our band. I didn’t know if you played any instruments, but we seriously need some creative help here.” Mike supplied, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Ben laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. Mike continued to sputter out an explanation, but soon joined him, and eventually they were both doubled over.

“Who else is in the band?” Ben asked, once they’d calmed back down.

Mike turned back to the car and waved at them to come out.

“I told those weirdos not to stay in the car, but they wouldn’t listen.” Mike chuckled fondly.

Four teenagers got out of the car and ambled over to the two. Ben recognized everyone from school, but didn’t exactly know any of them well. Ben had always tried to go unnoticed in class, often remaining quiet during class discussions, as a result of the constant struggle he had with his weight. When he was younger, kids were relentless. These days, he didn’t face as much teasing as he once did, but his old habits and body issues remained.

“Hi, I’m Bev.” The tall, ginger haired girl said sweetly, “I think we’re in the same history class.”

“I’m Richie, this is Bill, and that’s Eddie Spaghetti.” A teen with messy black curls on his head and thick glasses over his eyes gestured to himself and the two other boys.

“I told you not to call me that!” Eddie exclaimed as he gave Richie a swift kick to the shin.

Richie fell backwards dramatically and groaned, “You killed me, Spaghetti! Tell…your mom…I love her…” He closed his eyes and pretended to die right there, on Ben’s lawn.

“So, a-are you interested in joining the band?” Bill asked.

Ben gazed out at the band of misfits before him. They looked back at him with kind and hopeful smiles. Each of the teenagers were so different, but somehow cohesive. They made sense together, and Ben was surprised to discover that he could see himself standing among them. He’d never felt so at home with any group of people, ever, but especially not within minutes of meeting them.

He could already feel his fingers aching to wax lyrical poetry about these people, to weave stories of outcasts coming together to do great things. His thoughts were filling with verses of anarchy and uproar, of wild eyes and wicked grins.

“I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for reading ! the next chapter will get more into the story and band stuff, I just had to get introductions out of the way.
> 
> this is my first fic btw and im super eager to get into the next chapters so hopefully this didn't feel too rushed.
> 
> each chapter will be written similarly to this one, showing a little bit from each perspective of the losers club. I'll probably add more relationship tags later, I just don't exactly know what I wanna do yet with that.
> 
> anyway, hope u enjoyed !!
> 
> -ro


	2. Take A Rest As A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More introductions are made, a song is sung, and the losers bond over music and a shared fear of Richie and Bev's friendship.

April 29, 1994

The garage door was open when Stan arrived precisely at 6 o’clock, revealing six teenagers, sitting in a circle and deep in conversation.

“Stan! You c-came.” Bill greeted when he saw the boy approaching.

“Hey, Bill.” Stan said, all too aware of the eyes staring at him.

“I invited S-Stan to watch us p-practice tonight.” Bill explained to the others.

“Bill! We’ve never even played together before and you’re already trying to get an audience?” Richie’s asked incredulously.

“Well, I a-asked him to join the b-band, so I figured letting him sit in on a p-practice would be alright.” Bill reasoned.

“You asked someone to be in the band? Without even consulting us? Consulting me? Lest you forget, Billy boy, the band was my idea.” Richie crossed his arms over his stained t-shirt and annoyingly bright Hawaiian print over-shirt.

“Beep-beep, Richie.” Stan muttered, causing Richie to unexpectedly shut up. 

The other five burst out laughing as they made room for Stan to join their circle, and went around introducing themselves to him. Bill described how he was walking through the halls on the way to his locker when he heard a piano being played. He immediately had to find the source, and thus, found Stan. 

“What’s the name of your band?” Stan asked.

“W-we don’t have one yet.” Bill replied, “Does a-anyone have any ideas?”

“The Klown Killers!” Richie exclaimed.

“Why are we killing clowns?” Eddie asked, perplexed.

“I fucking hate clowns.” Richie said simply, “Let’s take a vote, all in favor of Klown Killers?”

No one but Richie raised their hands. 

“You guys suck. At least I’m trying.” Richie said, getting up from the circle. 

“We can re-revisit our name later.” Bill reasoned, “Sh-should we get started with practice?”

“I don’t exactly have my guitar on me, Bill.” Mike chuckled. 

“I have an ac-ac-acoustic in my room. I’ll go and get it. We can pick up all of the o-other instruments some other time.” Bill said, standing up and heading inside.

“How did he suddenly become the leader of the band?” Richie asked no one particular.

“Well, it is his house.” Ben said with a shrug.

“The role just kind of suits him.” Bev added.

Bill soon returned with an acoustic guitar. Richie grabbed it and sat on the couch, poised to play something. He motioned Bev over, and she sat down next to him. Bill took a seat on the floor next to Stan.

“Say, what do ya wanna sing, doll?” Richie asked in an accent that reminded Stan of the men in old black and white movies he sometimes watched with his mother.

Bev thought for a moment, then whispered in his ear. She pulled back and smiled, a similar expression making its way onto Richie’s face.

He began to pluck the strings, and she cleared her throat. Then, she opened her mouth and her raspy voice crooned,

_Come as you are, as you were, as I want you to be_

_As a friend, as a friend, as an old enemy_

_Take your time, hurry up, the choice is yours, don't be late_

_Take a rest as a friend as and old memoria_

_Memoria, memoria, memoria, memoria_

As they entered the second verse, Richie began to sing with her. Their raw voices, although a little rough, melded together to create a sort of beautiful harmony. 

_Come doused in mud, soaked in bleach_

_as I want you to be_

_As a trend, as a friend_

_as an old memoria, memoria, memoria_

The boys seated on the floor stared at the two in awe. Stan glanced at Bill, who’s dark blue eyes were trained on Richie and Beverly.

_And I swear that I don't have a gun_

_No, I don't have a gun_

_No, I don't have a gun_

_No, I don't have a gun_

_No, I don't have a gun_

They finished up the song together, looking a little embarrassed to see their captive audience.

“That was incredible, you guys!” Mike exclaimed, while the rest of the boys whistled and clapped.

“It was a little rough, but…thanks.” Richie said, surprisingly humble. 

“Yeah, Richie, you have a really good voice.” Bev said, patting him on the shoulder.

“You too, Bev. Very Courtney Love-esque.” Richie complimented her back, to which she thanked him profusely and started gushing about her love for Courtney Love’s band, Hole.

Bill smiled and turned to Stan, “So, wh-what do you think? Do you wanna b-be our keyboardist?”

Stan looked over at Bill, then back to the others,“I think so.”

 

Bev and Richie were outside sharing a cigarette when Eddie found them. The two were deep in conversation about some band Eddie had never even heard of. The others were still in the garage, talking more about their band. 

The light outside was fading, and the sky had turned orange and yellow. There was a glow on their skin that made them look golden. Richie’s freckles looked even darker on his pale skin and Bev’s hair shone like fire.

Eddie suddenly found himself jealous of Bev. She seemed to fit in so well with  
the group already, with her seemingly endless knowledge of music and the amazing performance with Richie she did earlier. Eddie felt so out of his depth.

Richie turned and spotted Eddie approaching them. 

“Eds!” Richie greeted, handing the cigarette to Bev and exhaling smoke.

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie said as he rolled his eyes, “Those things’ll kill you, by the way. Not to mention, they’ll ruin your voice.”

“By Jove, I think he’s right!” Richie exclaimed in a British accent, “What say you, constable?” He turned to Bev, who had thrown the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with her combat boot. 

She chuckled, “I say I’m heading back inside. See you in there, lieutenant.” She saluted him and walked back around to the garage.

“You’re such an asshole.” Eddie shook his head, “I was just trying to help you.”

“Aw, Spaghetti-man, I knew you cared about me.” Richie took hold of Eddie by the neck and gave him a noogie.

Eddie squirmed until he was free from Richie’s grasp, “Why do you have to turn everything into a goddamn joke?”

Eddie quickly turned away and walked back to the garage, leaving Richie behind. He sat down on the couch, feeling red in the face and a little ridiculous for getting so upset and flustered. He’d really only known him for a day, so Eddie didn’t know what had caused him to feel qualified to lecture Richie. The loud-mouth just drove him crazy.

“We were just talking about how we should make a list of songs to learn for  
practice.” Mike told Eddie, happy to include him in the conversation.

“M-maybe we could each write down a s-song that we like, that way we all contri-tri-tribute to the band’s sound and style.” Bill suggested.

Ben unzipped his backpack and rustled through it until he pulled out a notebook. He opened it to a blank page and took out a pen.

“Alright, anyone have any suggestions?” Ben asked.

“Maybe we should do Come As You Are? I feel like it could sound even better with some practice and all of our instruments.” Mike said, smiling at Beverly. Ben nodded, scribbling it down. Richie came walking into the garage with a sour look on his face, and sat on the ground next to Bill.

“What about Basket Case by Green Day? Or Violet by Hole? I feel like I could make a whole mixtape of songs I wanna play.” Bev laughed.

“That’s actually a good idea, Bev. Maybe when we come up with a list of songs you could make a tape for us to listen to with all of them.” Ben said as he wrote down the two songs she named.

The door to the garage suddenly opened and Bill’s father looked out at the group of teenagers from inside the house, “It’s getting a little late, Bill.” He sighed.

“Alright, D-dad, I’ll d-drive them home.” Bill answered back, getting up and taking his keys out of his pocket. His dad nodded and closed the door. Eddie’s brows furrowed at the almost sad tone in Bill’s voice and the hollow look his father had given them.

“Sorry ab-about that, guys. Maybe we can m-meet up tomorrow?” Bill turned to them with a lopsided smile, his voice back to sounding cheerful. Eddie wondered if any of the others had noticed the change in mood.

“I’ve gotta work tomorrow.” Beverly shook her head.

“Where do you work?” Ben asked.

“Freese’s. It’s that diner up on Maple Street.” She replied, brushing off her jeans.

“Are the r-rest of you free? We could meet at the d-diner and talk there, if that’s okay with y-you, Bev.” Bill suggested, leading the teens out of his garage and closing the door. 

Bev nodded, “Sure, it’s pretty slow in the mornings and afternoons on Saturday.” 

“I’ll be helping out at my family’s farm in the morning, but I’m free after that.” Mike said. 

“I’m free, so I’ll see you guys there.” Ben smiled as he got into his truck, “Anyone want a ride?”

“Sure, Ben, thanks.” Eddie said as he climbed into the passenger seat, “I’ll try and be there tomorrow, too.”

“Can I hop in the back?” Bev asked, already throwing her messenger bag into the truck.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Ben answered as she climbed into the bed of the truck.

“Thanks!” She exclaimed, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” She waved to the others as Ben pulled out of the Denbrough’s driveway.

Eddie stared out into the mirror and watched as the others got into Bill’s BMW, suddenly remembering that his mother was expecting him to come home right after marching band practice.

“Shit, my mom’s gonna kill me.”

 

“So, Stan the man, are you in?” Richie, who had been unusually quiet for some time, asked.

“Yeah, I think I can be there tomorrow.” Stan replied as he stared out the window.

“Are you sure you wanna drive me all the way to my house?” Mike asked Bill, “It’s a little out of the way.”

“Yeah, Mike, it’s n-no problem.” Bill smiled, “I’ll take any excuse to st-stay out of the house these days, truth be told.”

“I…I was gonna ask about that, Bill. Your dad, he…seemed a little cold?” Stan said hesitantly, meeting Bill’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Bill had forgotten how  
observant Stan was. They’d had a few classes together in junior year, and while Stan was usually quiet, he often spoke up to correct the teacher or make a witty comment when another student said something stupid. Bill always thought that Stan was hilarious in his own way, sarcastic and deprecating.

Richie reached into the backseat to smack Stan on the arm and give him a look that told him to drop it.

“It’s f-fine, Richie, really. I b-brought it up, sorta.” Bill sighed, looking back to the road, “You all p-probably saw something about my l-little brother going missing a wh-while back. When that happened, my p-parents just went quiet. It was like…they were n-numb. They put all of their energy into finding him, and it was like they forgot about me. Which I don’t blame them for, obviously, I know how they feel. Scared and desperate to get him back. But then we did get Georgie back, and I thought everything would go back to normal. But it didn’t. It changed, sure, now they have feelings, but they only feel paranoia and worry. I want so bad to be there for Georgie, but…sometimes I just can’t stand the cold.” 

“You don’t stutter all the time, Bill, ya know that?” Richie asked quietly.

“I’m so sorry, Bill.” Mike said from the backseat.

“I’m sorry.” Stan murmured, “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It’s alright.” Bill shrugged, “R-really.” Bill actually felt a sense of relief talking to someone about it besides just Richie. Richie was his best friend, of course, and had stuck by him though the whole ordeal, but sharing it with two more people gave him even more comfort and reassurance.

“How is Georgie?” Stan asked, no doubt remembering the smiling picture that was hung on every post and building in Derry years ago under the words ‘Have You Seen Me?’

“He’s good. It’s b-been a few years, now, and the kid really b-bounced back.” Bill smiled fondly, “He’s the same ch-cheerful Georgie as before, for the most part.”

It was true, Georgie really was back to being himself. It astonished Bill, as he thought that if he had been kidnapped by some lunatic, he’d never recover. 

“Gotta love that Georgie. Have you told him about the band?” Richie asked excitedly.

“C-considering the fact that the band was o-only formed this afternoon and we’ve b-been together this whole time, what do y-you think?” Bill smirked.

Richie slapped his knee, “Big Bill gets off a good one, hoo-boy!”

“Beep-beep, Richie.” Stan said.

“Amazing how that a-actually works, Stan.” Bill chuckled.

“It only worked because I respect Stan. But I’m not sure how long that’ll last at the rate this is going.” Richie grumbled. 

“Georgie’ll be s-so excited once I do tell him.” Bill said, imagining the look on his younger brother’s face, “Begging to s-sit in on every practice and come to e-every show.”

“Shit! I forgot about shows. We’ve gotta make some merch.” Richie grinned and began to rub his hands together, like he planning something.

“Maybe wait until we have a name and we know we actually sound good together to make merch.” Stan rolled his eyes and smiled.

 

Richie laid in bed for an hour after Bill dropped him off. He kept replaying what Eddie had asked him earlier over and over in his head, staring at the ceiling.

_Why do you have to turn everything into a goddamn joke?_

Richie hadn’t even been able to bring himself to laugh at the way Eddie’s hair stood straight up after he’d messed it up, he could only watch with an open mouth as  
Eddie turned and left him.

Maybe Richie had underestimated the pipsqueak. He had only known Eddie for about 5 hours and it seemed that he already saw right through him. He recognized the facade that Richie put up, the funny loudmouth without a care in the world, and knew that it wasn’t real. The cartoon boy, the comical relief. Or perhaps he just asked the question out of pure frustration, not even thinking about the existential tailspin it would send Richie into.

Richie hadn’t meant to make Eddie angry, he just liked teasing the shorter boy. Truthfully, Eddie wasn’t even that short, Richie just liked watching him squirm when he called him peewee. And pipsqueak. And Eds. And Eddie Spaghetti. 

And wow, Richie hadn’t even realized he’d given him so many nicknames throughout the day. What was wrong with him? 

Wanting to distract himself, he went to the crates full of old records and CDs in the corner of his room and began to comb through it until he found something that suited his mood. He pulled out Green Day’s _Dookie_ album and placed it his CD player, ready to lose himself in the reckless vocals of Billie Joe Armstrong and the loud music accompanying him.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing…” Richie announced in a disc jockey voice as he pressed play, “Richie and the Rockers! The Klown Killers? No…”

“Damn. Gotta come up with a name.” He cursed. Turning towards the mirror, he imagined he was on stage, and waved to the crowd. He launched into the song as soon as it started, playing an air guitar and whipping his head wildly, dark curls falling into his face.

He was halfway through the album when he heard a loud slam at the front door. Jumping, Richie scrambled to turn his music down. He heard light footsteps pad down the hallway, and then the door to his parents bedroom closing. His mother was in for the night.

Richie guessed he was on his own for dinner, as usual. His father would probably come home stumbling at some ungodly hour of the night, drunk and angrily muttering curses under his breath. Richie would stay in his bedroom, alone and seemingly forgotten. And so the cycle goes.

Richie took out a notebook and hopped on his bed. With the sounds of Green Day fueling him, he began to scribble down any thoughts and feelings he had. He strung words together with reckless abandon, resulting in raw and angry lyrics that called for revolution.

Richie felt desperate to make the band a reality and not just another pipe dream. He didn’t just _want_ this band to work, he needed it to. He had to get out of Derry. 

 

Mike watched the houses and trees turn into blurs as they drove past. He had climbed into the passenger seat when Bill dropped Stan and then Richie off at their houses so he could talk to Bill easier.

The radio was quietly whirring, filling up the silence in the car. 

“It’s sort of weird how we’ve all lived in the same small town for most of our lives, and yet we haven’t met before now.” Mike glanced at Bill. He had been thinking about that for some time now. Everything that day had sort of just fallen into place, like all the puzzle pieces were finally fitted together. 

Bill hummed in response, eyes focused on the road. 

“It’s like we were all meant to come together, at this exact time for this exact purpose. Does that sound crazy?” Mike now looked to Bill for reassurance.

“N-not at all.” Bill laughed, “I f-feel the same way.”

“I’ve never even wanted to be in a band before today, and now all of a sudden its all I can think about.” Mike shook his head in disbelief.

“Why’d you l-learn to play the guitar if you never d-dreamed of being a rock star?” Bill asked, “I figured that was the r-reasoning behind every m-musician.”

“No idea. I remember begging my grandfather to get one for me for my 10th birthday, no rhyme or reason.” Mike shrugged.

“M-meant to be, I guess.” Bill took a second to look away from the road to give Mike one of his sincere half-smiles.

A familiar beat suddenly made its way out of the radio and to Mike’s ears. A guitar joined the drums, soon followed by the singer’s unrefined but appealing voice.

Bill grinned, “I l-love this song.”

“Me too!” Mike exclaimed, “I didn’t know anyone else listened to Oasis.”

“A-are you kidding? They r-rock.” Bill reached over and turned the volume up.

Mike had discovered Oasis by chance and fell in love with their sound. He picked up their album, _Definitely Maybe_ , a few weeks ago when he was running errands in town. He stopped into the only music shop in Derry to look around, and ended up buying the CD. Mike began to sing along to the words he knew by heart,

_Cause my friend said he'd take you home_

_He sits in a corner all alone_

_He lives under a waterfall_

Bill’s eyes widened, “W-why didn’t you mention y-you could sing?”

Mike laughed, “Oh, come on, I’m not that good.”

“You r-really are! Next p-practice, you have to sing.” Bill pleaded.

Mike eventually agreed, and the two finished the song together as the sun dipped behind the trees and eventually disappeared. 

 

April 30, 1994

Bev chewed the end of her pen as she stared down at her little notepad. When Bev wasn’t using the notepad to write down orders that day, she was using it to scribble lyrics that would pop into her head. She didn’t know if the they were any good, but hoped the band could use them in some way.

She’d worked at the little ‘50s themed diner since she was fifteen, wanting some money of her own and an excuse to stay out of the house. Once she’d gotten enough paychecks, she bought the bass guitar and amp she’d been eyeing for weeks from the consignment shop down the street. It was a deep cherry color, a little scratched and worn, but perfect in Bev’s eyes. She had to hide it from her dad, as she didn’t know how he would react, and only practiced when he was out of the house with her headphones on and plugged into the amp.

Bev’s attention was brought back to work when she heard the chiming of the bell that hung above the diner’s door. She looked up to see her new friends come in and pile into a booth seat near the back of the restaurant. She waved at the one other waitress working that day, Janet, signaling that she would handle their table. Janet looked relieved.

Bev crossed over the black and white checkered floor to the rambunctious group sat on the red vinyl seats. 

“What can I get you guys?” She asked, poised with her notepad open.

“Hey, B-Bev.” Bill greeted, looking up at her from the menu.

“Beverly Marsh! Oh my stars, I never imagined runnin’ into you here.” Richie exclaimed in his ‘Southern Belle’ voice as he pretended to faint on Eddie, who sat next to him.

“Get off of me, trashmouth.” Eddie said as he tried to push the other boy back up.

“Funny, that’s not what your mom said last night.” Richie laughed, reaching over the table, expecting a high five from Stan. 

“Beep-beep, Richie.” Stan said as he turned back to the menu and rejected Richie’s high five.

They boys went around the table ordering drinks and Bev set out to get them from behind the counter.

“Bev! Can we get an order of fries?” Richie yelled to her.

“Sure thing!” She called back, thankful that the diner was mostly empty at that time of day. She gave the order of fries to the cook through the little window to the kitchen and brought their sodas out to them on a tray.

“Here you go, guys, your fries will be out in a minute.” Bev told them as she placed their drinks around the table. 

“Order up!” The cook called from the kitchen and rung the bell as he sat a plate of fries on the window ledge.

“Be right back.” Bev told them as she went back to collect the fries. Her coworker was standing behind the counter, looking at a magazine and chewing gum.

“I’m going on my break, Janet.” Bev told her as she took her apron off and placed it on the counter. Janet simply nodded and blew a pink bubble out at her.

Heading back to the booth of boys with the fries, she pulled up an extra chair for herself. 

Richie grabbed a bunch of fries and stuffed them in his mouth as soon as she set them down. Eddie rolled his eyes in disgust and sat back into his seat.

“So, I wrote some lyrics last night,” Richie said through his mouthful of fries.

“Try swallowing before you talk, Richie.” Stan glanced up at him. Richie gulped and looked at Stan with a grin.

“Oh, Stan, I love it when you talk dirty.” Richie snickered. Bev covered her mouth to hide the giggle that had made its way out.

“Sh-shut up, Richie.” Bill stuttered out.

“So, you wrote some lyrics.” Ben said, trying to get them back on track.

“Right-o,” Richie took a notebook out of his backpack and set it down in front of the Ben, “I figured you might be able to do something with them, Shakespeare.”

Ben looked over the messy scrawl on the paper as Bev plopped her notepad on the table.

“I’ve been writing lyrics all morning, well, trying to anyways. I’m not a great writer.” Bev shrugged.

Ben smiled as he read their words, “Are you sure you guys even need me? It feels like you know what you’re doing. Not to mention I’ve never written a song before.”

“Of course! You’re a crucial member of this group, Ben.” Bev reassured him.

“Yeah, you put all of our thoughts together and make them coherent.” Mike added

“And add y-your own!” Bill exclaimed.

Ben’s face flushed from all the attention as he mumbled out a thanks.

“Maybe we should decide what songs to learn for our next practice in the meantime.” Bev suggested, hoping to divert the attention from Ben. He gave her a grateful look as the group turned their attention to her.

“We should play some Beastie Boys!” Richie declared, slamming his fist on the table.

The group went around for a while discussing songs and bands they wanted to emulate, eventually coming up with a small list of songs. Bev noticed that Bill and Mike liked rock music, Richie liked punk, and Eddie and Ben liked 80s pop. 

Mike turned to Stan, who had been somewhat subdued during the conversation, and asked, “What do you think we should play, Stan?”

Stan looked at their list and thought for a moment, “Have you guys heard of The Cure?” 

 

The boys ended up staying until Bev’s shift ended, although she had to go back to working after her half hour break was over. She stopped by their table in between orders to chat and goof off until another waitress would give her a dirty look.

Now, they were all draped around Stan’s room listening to The Cure. Ben sat at Stan’s desk, looking over the lyrics Bev and Richie had given him, along with his own notebook.

Ben had notebooks full of half written poems and unfinished sonnets, but nothing he felt could be turned into a song. He told Bill as much, but he assured him that they didn’t expect him to churn out songs like a machine, they just wanted some creative guidance. 

It was incredible that the seven of them just fell so naturally together. Just yesterday morning, they were all strangers to each other. 

That fact alone gave Ben the inspiration he needed to begin writing. The lyrics he furiously wrote showed glimpses of all of them. Untamed curls, fiery hair, constellations formed by freckles, gangly limbs and crooked smiles; the misfits’ flaws and insecurities transformed into weapons to be used in a revolution.

Ben glanced back up at his new friends and smiled. Bill, Stan, and Mike sat together looking through Stan’s CD collection, while Richie, Bev, and Eddie sat next to each other on the bed nodding to the music. 

_I try to laugh about it_

_Cover it all up with lies_

_I try and laugh about it_

_Hiding the tears in my eyes_

_Because boys don't cry_

“This song is sick, Stan!” Richie exclaimed, “Who knew you were this cool?”

“Thanks, Richie.” Stan rolled his eyes, “And hey, get your shoes off of my bed.”

Richie complied with a smug grin. He turned to Bev and looked at her small silver hoop earrings, two on each ear.

“I wish I had my ears pierced.” Richie sighed, letting himself fall back onto the bed, feet dangling over the side.

“I could pierce them if you wanted.” Bev shrugged, causing Richie to quickly sit up.

“Really?” He asked, clearly excited.

“Sure.” Bev said, “I need an ice cube, some rubbing alcohol, and a needle. Oh, and some earrings.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie sputtered, “You can’t pierce your ears at home, it’s not safe!”

Richie was already running out of the room before Eddie could finish his sentence. 

“Richie! Wait! This is my house, you can’t just go through my stuff.” Stan huffed as he followed him out.

“Bev, are you really going to pierce his ears?” Ben asked.

“Sure, why not?” Bev laughed as if she was unsure what the fuss was all about.

“Well for starters, you’re not a professional, it could lead to an infection, he could bleed excessively, need I say more?” Eddie listed, mind already ping ponging around from one worst case scenario to the next.

Before Bev could reply, Stan and Richie were back in the room, holding a make-shift version of she had asked for.

“For the record, I don’t condone this,” Stan started, “But I figure I can’t really stop them.”

Bev led Richie to the bathroom, stating it had better lighting. The rest of the boys followed nervously. Richie sat on the toilet lid and Bev stood at the sink.

Richie handed her a cup of ice and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She took an ice cube out of the cup and handed it to Richie, pouring the rest of the ice into the sink.

“Hold this to your ear to numb it.” She instructed, pouring some hydrogen peroxide into the empty cup. 

“Are you g-guys sure about this?” Bill asked, giving them a worried look. The boys stood in the doorway watching, almost as if they were afraid of the shared reckless energy the two seemed to be running on.

“Yes.” They both answered at the same time, almost as if they were on the same wavelength.

“Did you get a needle and some earrings?” Bev asked.

“I’ve got two safety pins?” Richie offered, “Stan wouldn’t let me borrow any of his mother’s earrings.”

“Can you really blame me?” Stan asked.

“Alright, safety pins. I can work with that.” Bev nodded, she took the safety pins and let them soak for a minute in the hydrogen peroxide before taking one out.

“Are you sure?” Ben asked incredulously.

“Is your ear numb yet?” Bev turned to Richie, safety pin poised in her fingers.

“Yes! Do it before one of them stops us.” Richie encouraged, placing the melting ice cube into the sink. Ben turned to the others who all held similar nervous looks on their faces.

“Alright. I’m gonna count down. 1…” She started, kneeling in front of him with the safety pin close to his ear lobe. Richie closed his eyes in preparation.

“I can’t fucking watch this.” Eddie cried out as he covered his eyes, although he soon peeked through his fingers she could watch the whole ordeal. 

“2…”

“Have you done this before, Bev?” Mike finally asked.

“Nope.” She replied.

“Wait, what?” Richie’s eyes flew open.

“3!” She yelled as she plunged the safety pin into his ear.

Richie let out a string of expletives as the others watched in horror. 

“And we’re done!” Bev said.

“Really?” Richie asked, getting up and standing in front of the mirror.

“That’s so fucking punk, Bev!” He laughed, hand reaching up to his ear. He winced when a small stream of blood trickled out, but was soon smiling once again.

“Do you want me to do the other one?” Bev asked, tilting her head to the side.

“No! No, no. No. I think one is way cooler.” Richie chuckled nervously and adjusted his glasses.

“You’re an idiot, Richie.” Eddie shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfghjkl i love my children.
> 
> I'm so excited for the next chapter ! it should be out in a couple days.
> 
> the title is taken from Come As You Are by Nirvana, as are the lyrics Bev and Rich sing. the Oasis song Bill and Mike sing in the car is Supersonic and the song they all listen to in Stan's room is Boys Don't Cry by The Cure! and yeah that song by isn't from the 90s but I love the cure so sdfghjk
> 
> let me know if there are any glaring mistakes btw after so many times reading my own words my eyes kinda go cross eyed. 
> 
> anyways, hope u enjoyed and thanks for reading!
> 
> -ro


	3. Things Are Going To Change, I Can Feel It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has a revelation of sorts, Mike sings The Smiths, and the band is finally named.

May 7, 1994

Volunteering to join a band with a bunch of boys she barely knew ended up being the best decision Bev had ever made in her 18 years of life. Within a span of one week, they’d become like a family: an odd, eccentric, mismatched family. It made a warmth spread through her chest, thinking of the misfits with whom she’d developed a make-shift home.

She found a best friend in Richie, someone who could tell what she was feeling without her even having to speak, and vice versa. The others always told them what a dangerous pair they made, both encouraging each other's impulsive decisions. Bev didn’t see this as so much of a bad thing.

The first time Richie knocked on Bev’s bedroom window late into the night, she hadn’t even been surprised. She let him in without even a second though, and continued to do so time and time again. He told her he couldn’t stand to be alone all the time in his own home, which she understood completely. They were cut from the same cloth, those two.

Last night, Richie had come over and they ended up falling asleep together on her bed. Bev awoke to his dark curls tickling her nose, making her sneeze. He mumbled something incoherent and rolled away from her, still deep in sleep. She hummed out a small laugh; He was always talking, even in sleep.

She quietly slipped out of bed and padded downstairs to the kitchen. Her father was god knows where, but not home, thankfully. Bev hadn’t told Richie about what her father did when he got angry. She didn’t know _how_. She’d never told anyone before.

It was getting worse as she got older, as he grew more and more desperate to keep her by his side. He’d tell her how much he worried about her, in that insinuating and condescending tone he’d get while he inched closer and closer to her, trapping her like a predator looking upon its prey. 

Setting a pot of water to boil on the stove, she retrieved a box of instant coffee from a cupboard and two mugs, incase Richie woke up. She pinched her nose, trying to ignore the intrusive thoughts of her father. Instead, she focused her mind on the band, which immediately brightened her mood.

Bev heard the creak of the floorboards above her as the water came to a boil. Richie plodded down the stairs, thick glasses placed over his dark squinting eyes. 

She handed him a steaming mug as he approached her in the kitchen, having already poured the coffee. 

“There’s cream and sugar if you want.” Bev offered, preferring one spoonful of sugar for herself, no cream. He thanked her sleepily and let a steady stream of creamer swirl into the dark coffee as he added a mountain of sugar.

“I was thinking we should play our first concert soon. For practice. We’d need to find a venue first, and then somehow convince people to come…” Bev said between sips of her coffee. Richie nodded, and then tilted his head in thought.

“I could convince Bill to write an article about it in the school paper.” He slurped, “But we’d still need the time and place.”

“How about that old house on Neibolt Street? That street is practically a ghost town, and kids have parties there all the time.” Bev shrugged.

“That place gives me the heebie-jeebies,” Richie shivered, “but that’s not a bad idea. At least until we’re good enough to book an actual bar or club.”

“Alright, well, let’s suggest it to the band at practice today.” Bev suggested, knocking back the rest of her coffee.

Richie smiled and appeared to finally be waking up, “Right-o, gov’na.”

 

Mike sat alone on the worn couch in Bill’s garage, tuning his guitar. He was killing time while he waited for the rest of the band to show. Bill had been in the garage when Mike arrived, but reluctantly left him to try and convince his parents to let them continue practicing there.

Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough had been alright with it at first, but Bill told Mike that they grew worried over Georgie’s growing excitement about it. The 11 year old had sat in on their last practice, cheering as they played, undisturbed by how rough they sounded. Apparently, he’d learnt some choice language from Richie as well as a growing interest in electric guitars and ripped clothing. Bill’s parents were not pleased with this.

Mike was starting to strum the strings of his black and white electric guitar when Bill came through the door with an armful of water bottles and a dejected look on his face.

“Alright, they agreed to l-let us stay as long as I tell G-Georgie he can’t watch us play anymore.” 

“And you agreed to that?” Mike asked. 

“Hell n-no. I told them I would, but I don’t want to be a p-part of their policing and controlling Georgie. I just have to pay m-m-more attention to what Richie says around him. And what he says around my parents.”

“Well…good. ‘Cause that’s bullshit.” Mike shook his head, “I mean, no offense.”

“None t-taken, honestly.” Bill shrugged, picking up his blue electric guitar. It’s stye was very similar to Mike’s, a solid body with curved cutaways at the top and a wood colored neck.

“So, hey, I learned a new song. It kinda reminds me of the band.” Mike said in an effort to change the subject.

Bill gave him a crooked smile, “Oh yeah? You finally gonna show the rest of the band you can sing?”

Mike rolled his eyes lightheartedly. Bill had been bugging him about it since he heard him sing in the car. It wasn’t that Mike was shy exactly, he just genuinely didn’t think his voice fit with the punk image the band was going for.

When Mike told him as much, Bill dismissed it, saying that anything can be punk and that it’s more about attitude than anything else.

“Alright, well let’s hear it.” Bill looked at him expectantly.

 

Richie and Bev stopped by Richie’s house before band practice so he could change into a fresh set of clothes. He left her waiting in his living room while he headed to his bedroom.

Before they left her house, Bev had changed into a loose floral dress, a far cry from her usual worn jeans and teeshirt. Of course, she dressed it down with her combat boots, ripped black tights, and a denim jacket full of patches. When she added her final accessory, a simple black choker around her neck, Richie had told her she looked like a total babe, to which she laughed and rolled her eyes in response.

Although she really _did_ look like a babe, they both knew they didn’t look at each other like that. There would never be anything romantic between them, which is why they could be so close. When he looked at her or curled up next to her he felt nothing but brotherly love. It was as if they were twins separated at birth, so alike and so connected.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Richie wondered why. _Why_ didn’t he feel attraction towards her? She was the coolest girl he’d ever met, they bonded on every level possible, so why didn’t he want to kiss her or jump her or whatever boys wanted to do when they were around beautiful girls?

Richie was in his room stripping his grimy t-shirt off when he went off in search of another one in his dresser. He stopped when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and stared at himself. His body was pale and freckled, his eyes carried heavy purple bags underneath them and his cheeks looked hollow due to the dim lighting of the room.

He wracked his brain for girls he’d had crushes on in the past, but came up short. The only one he could think of was Winona Ryder, but she was a celebrity, so she didn’t exactly count. Plus, she reminded him a little of Bev, especially in _Reality Bites_ , with her shaggy haircut and spunky personality.

In all of his thinking about crushes and girls, a face kept popping up in his mind. Flashes of a scrunched up freckled nose and warm almond eyes giving him a scolding look. Richie furrowed his eyebrows, feeling a churning in his stomach. Why was he thinking about Eddie? 

A nagging voice in the back of his mind told him why. It reminded him of all the boys throughout the years who he had caught himself staring at all too often. There was the kid with the missing front tooth in 1st grade with the stupidly loud laugh, the boy in 6th grade with the coolest hair Richie’d ever seen, the teen in Richie’s history class in sophomore year with crystal blue eyes and a crooked nose; They’d all made his insides twist and his palms sweat. With each one, he’d felt compelled to be obnoxiously funny and idiotic, in an attempt to make them laugh. To make them notice him.

“Richie?” Bev called from the living room, “You almost done? We’ve gotta head to Bill’s soon.”

Richie shook his head and raked a hand through his messy curls, bringing himself out of his thoughts, “Be out in a minute!”

He threw on a dark t-shirt he’d found wadded up in a drawer, a flannel that was hanging on his door and ran out the door. Bev followed him out of the house and into the street.

“Woah, Rich, slow down.” Bev laughed, “Where’s the fire?”

“IthinkImightbegayandI’mkindoffreakingout.” Richie let a slew of words tumble out of his mouth, rubbing his forehead, unable to look Bev in the eyes.

“You…what?” Bev asked, placing a hand on his shoulder as they stopped in the middle of the street.

Richie sighed, “I said…I think I might be gay.” He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes and quickly wiped them away with his sleeve.

“Well…okay, then.” Bev nodded slowly, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly.

“You’re…you’re okay with it?” Richie finally looked over to her with bleary eyes only to find her standing with a sympathetic smile on her face.

“Of course, Richie.” She shrugged, like it was nothing, “Are _you_ okay?”

“I don't know…” Richie was at a loss for words, something he was definitely not used to.

“Do you want to tell me about it on the way to Bill’s?” She offered, and they began on their walk once more.

 

Stan was beginning to get used to lying to his parents, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Just this morning, he’d told them he was going to be studying for finals at the library all afternoon. They hadn’t even batted an eye, and he hadn’t even given the lie that much though, it just slipped out. 

He hadn’t told his parents he joined a rock band, because how could he? They expected him to be proper and polite and quiet, and this band was everything _but_ that. When they bought him his keyboard a few years ago, they definitely hadn’t thought he would end up using it to play songs by Radiohead or Depeche Mode.

Despite the guilt he felt for lying, he felt happier than he had in a long time. He finally felt like he had people who wanted him to be around, who appreciated him for him, snarky comments and all.

Instead of walking to the library like he’d told his parents, he was walking to Bill’s house for band practice. 

The band messy and unorganized, but for once, Stan didn’t mind. His thoughts weren’t anxiety ridden or compulsive, they were excited and full of hope. 

He found himself daydreaming of being on stage, which he found rather funny, as he’d never thought himself a performer before. He still wasn’t, really. He was no match for Richie, the ultimate performer, their own jester. No, Stan was content with his place behind the keyboard, pushed to the side of the rest of the band. However, he did enjoy the thought of colored lights beating down their faces, a swarm of bodies rising and crashing against the stage, all because of the music Stan and his friends created.

The crisp spring wind nipped at Stan’s cheeks and the tip of his softly sloping nose, although the sun warmed the top of his curly head. He heard a woodpecker in the distance and smiled. Spring was his favorite season, with the warmer weather and birds beginning to nest. 

Although this brought him some comfort, the changing seasons also brought a sense of uneasiness for Stan. It was his last year of high school, and while he made good grades in school, he didn’t know what he wanted to do next. His parents were pressuring him to go to a prestigious college, and become a lawyer or an accountant.

While Stan hadn’t figured out what he _wants_ to do, he knew for sure he _didn’t_ want to be an accountant. 

For the moment, Stan was saved from his ultimate existential crisis, as he’d finally arrived at the Denbrough’s house. He stood at the bottom of the driveway, where he could hear soft music playing through the open garage door. The voice was strong, but smooth and sweet sounding, accompanied only by the simple strumming of a guitar. 

_See, the luck I've had_

_Can make a good man_

_Turn bad_

_So please please please_

_Let me, let me, let me_

_Let me get what I want_

_This time_

Stan assumed it was the radio playing, as he didn’t recognize the voice. He started walking, stopping just short of the garage. It was Mike, sitting on the couch with a guitar. Bill, who was seated next to him, noticed Stan’s presence, and looked to him. They shared a smile, and continued to watch as Mike was lost in the music. 

_Haven't had a dream in a long time_

_See, the life I've had_

_Can make a good man bad_

_So for once in my life_

_Let me get what I want_

_Lord knows, it would be the first time_

“Mike, my man! Are you serenading Billy?” Richie had just walked up with Bev, who slapped him on the shoulder as Mike abruptly stopped playing to look up.

“Why didn’t you tell us you could sing?” Stan asked quietly, finally walking over to the two. Mike shrugged sheepishly.

“You should sing some of our songs! Your voice is amazing, Mike.” Bev gushed.

Mike was saved from replying by the rumble of Ben’s truck as it pulled up in front of the driveway. He hopped out with a grin and headed over to the group.

“Hey guys.” He greeted, notebook and pen in hand. Stan had noticed that Ben was always writing, seemingly about anything and everything. It was different than Bill’s writings, which he’d shown him last practice. Bill wrote short stories, mostly full of horror or supernatural elements, while Ben wrote ambiguous lines of poetry, full of red-headed waifs and teenage rebellion. Bill confessed to Stan that he’d attempted to write a song, but it came off as more of a story than anything else.

“Oh! I just remembered, me and Richie came up with a great idea.” Bev exclaimed, “You guys know that abandoned house on Neibolt Street, right? We should totally have a concert there. Bill, if you could write an article about it or something in the school paper, we might get some people to show up. Hopefully.”

“Wait, why are you trying to find a place to have a gig?” Ben asked, “You guys just formed the band last week.”

“Becauuuuuse,” Richie dragged out, “We need the practice. If performing in front of audiences is something we really want to do, which it definitely is for me, we have to start somewhere.”

“As much as I hate to say it, I agree with Richie.” Stan said, causing all eyes to look to him.

“I knew you loved me, Stanley.” Richie smirked.

“Yeah, yeah, trashmouth. Keep talking.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“I g-guess it _does_ make s-sense.” Bill said, “I could pr-probably publish an article about it without a-any of the teachers seeing it, since I’m the e-e-editor.”

“Adults just love ya, don’t they?” Richie laughed.

“How about we make the concert next Saturday? We could do mostly covers, maybe a couple originals.” Mike suggested, “That is, if we have any?”

Now all eyes shifted to Ben, who looked a little hesitant but gave them a broad smile, “I’ve got the lyrics if you’ll write the music.” 

“Well, we’ve got some practicing to do.” Mike chuckled.

Richie looked around and huffed, “Yeah, once our little drummer boy shows up. Anyone know where he is?”

 

Eddie was running, as fast as his short legs would carry him. He had been on his way to Bill’s house, taking a shortcut on a dirt road near the Barrens, when he heard loud howls and whistles from behind him. He had turned around to find Henry Bowers and his crew, taunting him. 

Now they were chasing him, and unfortunately, gaining speed. One of them tackled Eddie to the ground and at Henry’s command, held him there. Eddie groaned when he saw his shirt sleeve had torn and he was caked in mud.

“Where are your friends now, girl?” Henry growled.

Each of them took hold of one of Eddie’s limbs, pinning him to the ground. 

“Hold his arm out.” Henry ordered as he whipped a switchblade out of his pocket and made a move to cut Eddie’s arm.

Eddie cried out, wriggling and kicking as much as he could. The blade made contact with his skin, and he shut his eyes as tight as he could, remembering something Bill had told him last week after they ran into Henry and Victor Criss while leaving the music store in town. 

_Bullies are just looking for a reaction, don’t give them one, and they’ll leave you alone._

So, Eddie went still and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to imagine something that would distract him. So, he thought of his new friends. The past week had been the best of his life, all because of them.

Bill had picked up all of their instruments and took them back to his house the day after they’d met at Freese’s diner. They’d only managed to practice two days after school that week, as it was nearing the end of all of their senior years and most of them were pretty busy.

But, those two practices were the most fun Eddie had ever had. Of course they were far from perfect, but Eddie found himself having too much of a good time to really care too much. He pictured playing his drum set, sweat flying off of his forehead with the biggest smile on his face. Richie would glance back at him, laughing and playing his guitar. The only time the two didn’t argue was when they were playing.

“The fuck?” Henry asked, “Did you die, loser?” 

The piercing pain in his arm settles into a sharp sting as Henry put the blade back in his pocket and stood up. Eddie tasted metal in his mouth, he’d bit his cheek so hard it bled. The pressure on his arms and legs let up as the others let go of him. It looked like Bill was right, Henry had gotten bored.

Eddie made a move to stand and was kicked by Henry in the stomach. He groaned and fell back, feeling the world begin to start spinning.

“Shit, Henry it’s the fucking cops.” One of them said, spotting a patrol car coming down the road.

“Let’s leave this freak.” Bowers spit, giving Eddie one last kick. They ran off into the woods, howling and cackling all the way.

Eddie sat up and immediately threw up. Groaning, he picked himself up off of the ground. Momentarily forgetting about the germs and dirt he was covered in. All he could think about was how he didn’t want to be caught by the cops so his mother wouldn’t find out. She’d never let him out of the house again. 

Eddie ran as fast as he could to Bill’s house. He knew the band would be there, sitting around and tuning their instruments. They were probably starting to wonder where Eddie was.

Bev was the first to notice him running down the street.

“Shit, Eddie!” She cried, rushing out of the open garage door to meet him. 

Richie’s head whipped up and his eyes widened when he noticed the blood dripping down the short boy’s arm. He followed Bev and propped Eddie’s arm that wasn’t bleeding over his shoulder, helping him walk.

“I’m fine, Richie, I can walk.” Eddie protested, despite leaning into Richie’s side.

Bill had gone inside to retrieve the first aid kit his mother kept in the upstairs bathroom while the others made room for Eddie on the couch.

“What happened?” Stan asked once Eddie was seated. 

“Bowers gang…couldn’t move. They pinned me down.” Eddie tried to explain, words failing him. Only then did Eddie notice the how bloody his arm was, immediately making him queasy again. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Bev placed a trash can by Eddies feet, just incase. Richie was pacing back and forth, muttering and making plans to murder the Bowers gang.

“What did they do to your arm?” Mike asked, trying to look at it. It was smudged with blood, but something was clearly carved into the skin of his outer arm.

“I don’t know, Henry took out a switchblade and I closed my eyes.” Eddie admitted, suddenly embarrassed.

Bill returned with towels and the first aid kit, and sat down beside Eddie to begin addressing his wound. He began by soaking the blood up and wiping his arm down. Eddie winced and tried to focus on his friends’ concerned faces rather than the pain. They were finally able to see the marks Henry had left.

“Loser.” Eddie read sadly, tracing the raised flesh with his finger. 

“God, what a lame insult.” Richie ridiculed, “If you’re gonna carve a word into someone and leave a scar for life at least think of something original.”

“Oh god, you think it’ll scar? Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. How am I gonna hide this from my mom? She’s gonna have an aneurism. I’m never gonna be let out of the house again.” Eddie began rambling.

“Don’t worry about your mom, Eds, I’ll distract her.” Richie offered suggestively.

“Beep-beep, Richie.” Stan said, causing Richie to deflate and sit down silently next to the couch.

“D-does anyone know what we should u-use to clean it?” Bill asked, looking through the box. “There aren’t i-instruction manuals in these things.”

“Neosporin.” Ben, who had been fairly silent the whole time, replied. They all turned to look at him. 

“If you have it.” He added nervously, “and some warm water, and clean bandages.”

“W-warm water, on it.” Bill went back into the house.

Bev shot Ben a concerned look, which he pretended he didn’t see. He sat next to Eddie and began looking through the first aid kit, pulling out a roll of gauze, scissors, and a tube of Neosporin. 

“Alright, I’m gonna use the towel to stop the bleeding” Ben told Eddie as he wrapped a towel over Eddie’s arm and applied pressure.

“Oh god, I’m still bleeding? I’m gonna die.” Eddie moaned as he took his inhaler out of his pocket with his good arm.

“You’re not going to die, Eddie, it’s okay.” Bev reassured him as she sat next to him, rubbing his back.

Bill returned with a bowl full of water and handed it to Ben, who set to work. The bleeding had finally stopped, so he took a towel, wet it, and wiped off the blood that had crusted around the letters.

The teens watched in complete silence as he then started carefully picking chunks of dirt out of the wound with tweezers from the first aid kit. Once he was satisfied that it was clean, he spread the antibiotics on it and wrapped it up in a bandage.

“Thanks, Benny.” Eddie said in a small voice, at a loss for words.

Ben smiled at him, “No problem.”

“I, uh, brought y-you some clean clothes, Eddie. If you w-want to change.” Bill said as he handed him a fresh t-shirt and jeans.

“Thanks, Bill.” Eddie said, getting up and heading inside. He went to the bathroom and locked the door behind him, immediately peeling off his muddy, blood soaked clothes.

Eddie slipped on the clean t-shirt and dark blue jeans, then inspected himself in the mirror. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, his brown eyes were red rimmed, but he couldn’t remember when exactly he’d cried. Ducking his head into the sink, he washed his face and hair, watching red and brown drip off of him and swirl down the drain. Once the water ran clear, he dried himself off with a towel. 

Eddie turned back to the mirror, taking deep breaths. He saw that Bill’s faded Pink Floyd t-shirt was a little too long for him, but decided to leave it untucked to cover where the waistband of the jeans kept slipping down. Folding his clothes and opening the bathroom door, he made his way back out to his friends.

They all gave him sympathetic smiles as he sat back down on the couch.

“M-me and Bev think we can get the blood out of y-your clothes, if you want. That way your m-mom doesn’t have to find out.” Bill offered, reaching out for Eddie’s neatly folded clothes.

“Thanks, you guys. Now I just have to figure out a way to hide the bandage from her.” Eddie gave a sad smile as he handed Bill his clothes. Bev followed Bill inside to work on cleaning them.

“Here, take my flannel.” Richie said, already taking the orange plaid shirt he’d worn over his Ramones t-shirt off of himself, “You can wear it over your shirt so your mom won’t be able to see your arm.”

“Okay…Thanks, Rich.” Eddie said hesitantly as he shrugged the flannel over his shoulders. It smelled a little like sweat mixed with sandalwood, musky and spicy. Similar to the t-shirt and jeans, it was ill fitting. Eddie silently cursed his friends for being so much taller than him.

“Now you look the part of a drummer in a rock band, Eddie.” Mike gave him an earnest smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Nah, he’s still too cute for rock and roll.” Richie dismissed, fiddling with the safety pin that still hung from his right ear.

“Shut up, trashmouth.” Eddie mumbled, sinking into the flannel.

“Did you _see_ that scar, Rich? I’d say he’s more punk than you.” Stan teased.

“How dare you, Stanley! Do _you_ see _this_?” Richie gestured to the safety pin hanging from his ear. Eddie hated to admit it, and he’d never say so out loud, but he liked the piercing. It was dangerous and could so easily get infected, but it looked good. Eddie guessed reckless endangerment suited Richie.

 

The washing machine creaked as Bill turned it on. It sputtered and whirred, and eventually started swirling Eddie’s clothes around in the soapy water. Bev and him had been able to successfully get all of the blood out, and stood there a minute, proud of their accomplishment.

Bill’s parents were in the living room, but hadn’t bothered to ask what he was doing. He guessed they figured he couldn’t be getting into much trouble if he and his friends were doing laundry.  
He could tell Bev wanted to ask him about them. His solemn and silent parents, seemingly absent from their own bodies. She held back though, and he was thankful for that. He’d tell her later.

Georgie had come over from his spot in front of the TV to see what they were doing, but was disappointed to find them scrubbing clothes in the sink. He went back to watch a rerun of an episode of the X-Files, a show Bill had introduced him to, sighing in boredom. 

Bill and Bev returned to the group to find Stan and Richie arguing, Mike watching in amusement, Ben writing in his notebook, and Eddie being swallowed up by a flannel shirt that Richie had been wearing just ten minutes ago. Bill shared a look with Bev and then they attempted to join Stan and Richie.

The conversation had turned quiet after a while, and the group kept stealing little glances at Ben, similar questions racing through their minds but all unsure how to phrase them. 

“So, Ben, what you did earlier for Eddie was awesome, but I feel like I can’t just forget that you knew exactly how to take care of an open wound.” Richie said, tactless as always. Bill winced; sometimes it was like Richie just vomited out the first words that popped into his head.

“Richie!” Bev slapped him on the arm, “If Ben doesn’t want to share something he doesn’t have to.”

“Yeah, maybe he wants to be a doctor.” Mike suggested.

“Or maybe he’s just really clumsy.” Stan reasoned, “Really, really clumsy.”

“No, that’s all right, you guys. I…I might as well tell you.” Ben said. All eyes returned to Ben as they prepared for a story.

Ben sighed and began lifting up his shirt. A messy and ugly scar in the shape of an ‘H’ was on his stomach.

“I was 13. I was a lot…fatter then. Henry made me a target because of it. He’ll take any excuse to hurt someone he believes to be weaker or different from him.” Ben paused, pulled his shirt back down, then launched into a story detailing how Henry had caught him after school one day and tried to carve his name into his stomach. Ben managed to escape, but ended up taking care of the cut himself. He didn’t want his mom to worry. Ben shrugged once he was finished, “Not much of a story.”

Bev took Ben into a hug, and gave him a sad smile when she pulled back.

“I wish we were all friends back then.” Stan said from his seat on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest.

They all murmured in agreement. The story had made them each remember some unpleasant childhood memory, and it was reflected onto their faces in that moment. All of them had faced hardships too young in their life, all by themselves. Somehow they all understood this without even needing to say it, although Bill knew they’d all end up sharing eventually.

Bill thought back to his conversation with Mike after their very first practice. They’d talked about how all seven of them meeting now felt inevitable, or meant to be. 

Richie, of course, was the one to break the silence that had fallen over the group.

“Let’s listen to some music, huh?” He went over to Bill’s father’s radio and turned the dial until he found a rock station. 

_Don't believe everything that you read_

_You get a parking violation and a maggot on your sleeve_

_So shave your face with some mace in the dark_

_Savin' all your food stamps and burnin' down the trailer park_

The teens turned to each other and laughed despite the horrible irony of the song. They all began to sing the hook, with wide smiles on their faces.

_Soy un perdedor_

_I’m a loser, baby_

_So why don’t you kill me?_

By the last verse they were shouting the lyrics and playing imaginary instruments. Richie, with his air guitar, jumped onto the couch and pretended to stage dive. The song ended with them all falling to the floor with their heads together, panting and grinning.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have ‘loser’ on my arm forever.” Eddie groaned, putting a hand over his face, pulled back to reality, “I wish I could turn it into some other word…like…I don’t know. Lover? Is that any better?”

Bev suddenly sat up with a mischievous looking her face, “I have an idea.”

 

“I don’t know about this…” Stan said with a nervous gulp as he stared at the sewing needle and ballpoint pen in Bev’s hands. Ben shared his sentiment, feeling his palms grow sweaty.

“Well, _I_ do know. We’re gonna get diseased!” Eddie exclaimed, “And then die.”

“I’m doing this for you, Eddie!” Richie said, pumping his fist in the air. He sat on the couch with one sleeve rolled up, facing Bev.

“I never asked you to!” Eddie sighed, exasperated.

“Look, if you don’t want me to do it to you, I won’t.” Bev shrugged, “I just thought it was a nice idea.”

“It’s a kick-ass idea is what it is!” Richie exclaimed, “Who else is in?”

Bill took in a big breath, “Alright, let’s do it.”

“Alright, Big Bill!” Richie clapped his friend on the back, “Mikey, Stan the man? Ben?”

“Have you done _this_ before?” Mike asked, probably remembering when he’d asked the question too late last time.

Bev reached down and slipped her left boot off. A small and delicate drawing of a slingshot was visible through a rip in her tights, just above her ankle.

“A slingshot?” Stan asked, looking at her curiously.

“What does it mean?” Ben gazed at her. 

“It’s…a reminder. Sort of.” Bev explained, “I wanted to do it out of spite at first. I wanted to hurt my dad…I was just feeling so helpless and small. After I started, the anger sort of left and it became more about doing something for myself for once. It’s there to remind me that I’m not weak…or powerless, I can fight back. It sounds a little silly explaining it all now but…” 

“It’s not silly at all, Bev.” Ben shook his head, the others murmuring in agreement.

“I also have really killer aim. I have since I was a kid. I used to go out to the Barrens and shoot empty cans with a an old slingshot.” She chuckled, running a hand through the cloud of copper hair on her head.

“Okay, I’m in.” Ben agreed after giving it some thought. He’d probably say yes to anything Bev asked of him, truth be told, no matter how much it scared him.

The corners of her mouth quirked up into a smile and it sent a wave of heat through Ben’s face. Mike and Stan eventually said yes, and Eddie decided to let Bev turn the ’S’ in ‘Loser’ into a ‘V’ once the wound healed. 

Ben was the last to get a “stick-n-poke” tattoo, as Bev called it. He’d watched the rest of the losers scrunch their faces up in pain, but in the end, they reveled in their shared mark. On each of their arms, written in small and delicate scrawl, was the word “loser”. When Eddie got his ‘V’, they’d get their’s, drawn in red ink instead of black.

Bev sat next to Ben as she concentrated on the tattoo. She was drawing it on his inner arm, and she was so close to him that he could smell her shampoo, a faint citrus scent. If he was being honest, he barely registered the pain from the tattooing.

All too soon, she was looking up at him and telling him she was done, the warm presence she’d brought with her disappearing as she got up from the couch.

They all held out their arms, showing off their tattoos and grinning at each other. Eddie held out his bandaged arm. In that moment, all seven of them felt penultimate, as if some sort of final change was right around the corner.

“We’re losers now, officially. A-all of us.” Bill stated, “We’re reclaiming the name.”

“Hey, that’s kind of a cool name, ‘The Losers’” Mike suggested.

“How about ‘The Loser’s Club?’” Eddie asked, gazing around at his friends.

“It’s better than Klown Killers.” Stan shrugged, giving his approval.

Richie grinned at all of his friends, “Well, welcome to The Loser’s Club, assholes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! just wanted to say thank you to everyone who commented and gave kudos on my last two chapters!
> 
> the song Mike sings is Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want by The Smiths and the chapter title as well as the lyrics the losers sing later in the chapter are taken from Loser by Beck
> 
> the next chapter should be out in a few days, they'll finally be performing! woo! exciting stuff
> 
> lmk if there are any mistakes! I wrote a majority of this in one night ha
> 
> as always, hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading!
> 
> -ro


	4. Something Is Bubbling Behind My Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Loser's Club plays their first gig and it goes better than they expected, although one of them ends up with a bloody nose and a black eye.

May 14, 1994

Bill had put out an ad in the school paper that week, detailing a concert that would take place in an undisclosed location. Entry would only be given to those able to recite correct password at the door. The secrecy made students intrigued, as Bill knew it would, and they flocked to him after school with questions and pleads to let them attend.

The article was ambiguous enough that none of the teachers caught wind of the underground concert, which is exactly why their peers wanted in. Bill knew they cared less about the music, and more about the party aspect of it, but Bill figured if he could get an audience, it was good enough.

It was finally Saturday, the day of the gig. All week, the losers had been hard at work. Their time was consumed with band practice and song writing, with a little bit of school work here and there.

They’d perfected a set list of ten cover songs, with one original. Ben had written an abundant amount of lyrics, but creating cohesive music with all of their instruments proved more difficult than they imagined. There was no shortage of ideas from all of the losers, but they often clashed. 

The song they eventually put together was a little messy, but they liked it that way. It had a reckless and riotous energy, with a strong drumbeat and bass. They named it _Losers_ , and it read as a sort of call to arms for all their fellow misfits and outsiders. 

The band had actually started to refer to each other as the losers now, like they were a secret club or something. And Bill guessed they were, sort of. The tattoos were an initiation, a blood oath that would bind them forever.

Their tattoos were healing surprisingly well, with only mild itchiness. Bill had his ‘loser’ written on his upper arm, as it could be easily concealed as well as showed of if he wanted. Richie had worn short sleeves all week to proudly show off his, which was on his outer arm in a similar placement as Eddie’s scar, which Eddie kept hidden by wearing Richie’s flannel all week. _Yeah,_ Bill thought, _they really_ were _that obvious._

Normally, Bill didn’t like to assume things, but he knew Richie pretty well by now. He could tell when his best friend had a crush on someone, even if Richie didn’t know it himself. He’d act even more obnoxious than usual, all the while staring at the object of his affections when they weren’t looking with a dazed look on his face. Stan had compared him to a bird showing off his feathers to attract a mate, which had made Bill laugh so hard he cried.

Bill was currently loading as many of the band’s instruments into his car as he could. Ben would be over soon with his truck, which would make it easier to transport their amps and the drum set. 

They’d gone to the house on Neibolt street earlier that week in order to check it out. They spent a few hours after school cleaning it up a little and making sure it was clear of squatters. 

Most of the losers had been hesitant about the house, as it was pretty dilapidated and rickety. As well as this, it was also known to be used for partying by teenagers, so they didn’t exactly know what to expect.

Richie had even called it a crack house, which of course had sent Eddie into a worried tailspin about contaminated needles and diseases. This is when Stan so helpfully pointed out that most people smoke crack cocaine, not inject it.

Bill had distracted them with cleaning, needing to make room near the back of the house for their equipment. When they finished clearing the floor, Eddie was happy to report that no drugs were found. Stan had skillfully hidden the bong they’d found in a back corner before Eddie could see it and freak, and Bill thanked God for Stan.

“Hey, Bill.” Eddie called as he walked up the driveway. Bill wondered what Eddie had told his mom he was doing tonight, because he definitely didn't say he was playing the drums in a rock band at an underground concert in an old abandoned house.

“H-hey, Eddie.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Eddie asked, looking around the garage. He was wearing the aforementioned flannel over a plain t-shirt and dark jeans, looking like he’d made an effort to appear more grunge than usual.

They spent the next ten minutes strategizing how they could fit the most amount of gear into Bill’s backseat when Ben pulled up with Stan in the passenger seat. 

“Hey guys,” Ben greeted, “Richie called me and said he and Bev are gonna meet us at the Neibolt house later.”

“Oh, god. What are they up to now?” Eddie groaned.

 

Richie and Bev had gone into town, knowing they’d need a few supplies if they wanted to keep teenagers interested enough to stay and listen to their band. Richie had come up with the idea to buy the beer, and Bev provided the means.

He was currently waiting outside while Bev scammed the cashier at the drugstore into giving her beer.

Since Bev had helped him with his little freak out about his sexuality, he’d been spending even _more_ time with her. Richie was surprised at how much she knew about LGBT history and rights. When he pressed her, she confessed how she’d gone to the library in 7th grade, crying and desperate to find a name for what she felt. 

She’d gotten a crush on her only friend at the time, a girl who completely alienated her once she told her she liked boys and girls. The secret was soon spread all over school, and Bev hit with an onslaught of vicious names, everything from slut to dyke to freak.

Richie had been hugging her and whispering soothing words to her by the end of the story. She firmly told Richie that she was proud to be bisexual, but Richie understood that the baggage that came along with the label wasn’t easy to deal with.

Richie smiled fondly at the memory, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the building. The bell above the door chimed as Bev walked out of the store with heavy bags in her hands and a smug look on her face.

“You gonna help me or what?” 

“Why of course, my dear lady.” Richie replied in a British accent as he stubbed out his cigarette. Richie was trying to cut back on his smoking. The comment Eddie made the first day they met had really got to him.

They began to walk towards Neibolt street, side by side on the sidewalk. They filled the air with mindless chatter for a few blocks, both preoccupied with anticipation for that night. 

“I really hope at least a few people show up.” Bev confessed finally working up the nerve to talk about it, “It’d be so lame if no one did.”

“Bev, did you _see_ all of the kids hounding Bill this past week? People we don’t even know were asking him about it. It’s gonna be huge!” Richie exclaimed, “Plus, it’s an excuse to party.”

“i just really want this to go well.” She shrugged sheepishly.

Richie bumped his shoulder into hers, giving her a reassuring smile, “Me too, red.”

She gave him a small smile back, looking a little sad and unconvinced, “I _need_ this to go well. The band…it’s my only way out of Derry. And I have to get out of this town.”

“Believe me kid, I know. We’ll make it.” Richie paused in thought, “If not, the two of us‘ll have to strike out on our own. Take the next bus as far away from this hellhole as we can get.”

“You’d really do that?” Bev asked, astonished.

“I can't stay here either. Working a dead-end job, finding a nice girl to settle down with, having a kid that I mess up so bad that they get stuck just like me, eventually drinking myself to death. And so the cycle goes.” Richie shook his head, “And college isn’t really an option. I made okay grades, and the paper looks great on applications, but I really can’t afford it. And I don’t want to. I can’t just be a cog in the machine.”

“Another brick in the wall.” Bev smiled at him, genuine this time, and looking at him with clear and understanding blue eyes.

They quietly sung their own rendition of Pink Floyd’s _Another Brick In The Wall, Pt. 2_ for the next block. Richie imitated the weird voices at the end of the song and the children choir that sung throughout.

They were both laughing by the end, sputtering and gasping for breath. People passing by on the sidewalk steered clear of them, looking at them as if they had three heads.

They’d calmed down by the time they’d reached a neighborhood road, only a couple streets over from Neibolt.

“Did you see how Eddie’s been wearing your flannel all week?” Bev smirked and glanced sideways at Richie.

Richie felt like the wind was suddenly knocked out of him. “Believe me, Bev. I’ve noticed.”

“Nice of you not to tease him about it.” She noted slyly.

“How could I? I tease him, and he stops wearing the flannel and thus stops looking like an alt-rock dream. He’d give me the flannel back with it smelling like him!”

“Oh my god, Richie, it’s even worse than I thought. Alt-rock dream?” She cackled, earning her a slight shove from Richie’s hip.

“Hey, at least I’m not describing my fantasies to you in great detail.” He shouted back, and then began to spout a story in a typical narrator voice, “It’s dark, and we’re in my room. He looks up at me with his big brown Bambi eyes and-”

“Okay, okay. Hold it right there. I get it.” Bev interrupted him, “You’re really gay.”

“You bet.” Richie sighed, “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“To be fair, you _are_ pretty oblivious.” Bev shrugged as they turned onto Neibolt street.

“How’s that fair?” Richie asked, squinting through the sunlight in front of them. The house was in their sights, and Ben’s truck was parked out front, but Bill’s car was absent. 

They made their way to the house and up the rickety steps. 

“Go get your dream boy.” Bev laughed, pushing Richie through the door.

 

Mike had his stereo’s volume turned all the way up, bobbing his head while he worked. He was making a platform for Eddie’s drum set to sit on while they played. There was enough extra wood laying around the farm, and with a hammer, some nails, and paint, Mike figured he could make a pretty nice one.

He hadn’t told the others he was building it, wanting it to be a surprise. They were all bummed they didn’t have a stage, or any proper equipment really. So, Mike took it upon himself to try to build some. He was glad to have the distraction at the moment, taking solace in the barn.

He’d gotten into another argument with his grandfather that morning. Mike was one of the few losers to actually tell his guardian what he was up to, playing guitar in a rock and roll band. To say his grandfather wasn’t happy about it would be the understatement of the year.

There had been loud yelling on both of their parts, his grandfather claiming that it was a waste of his time, Mike claiming that it was the first thing he actually enjoyed doing in a “long ass time”. They had both said some things in the heat of the moment they’d regret later, but what Mike _wouldn’t_ regret was finally standing up for himself.

Which is why Mike was now taking all of his anger out on a nail. He was practically done with the building, but he felt the need to hit something to release his energy in a non-destructive way.

A familiar beat was suddenly playing from the speakers and Mike grinned. He started singing along,

_Anthony works in the grocery store_

_Savin' his pennies for someday_

_Mama Leone left a note on the door_

_She said, Sonny, move out to the country_

Mike started to dance as he sang, dropping the hammer and forgetting about the platform momentarily.

_If that's what it's all about_

_Mama if that's movin' up_

_Then I'm movin' out_

_I'm movin' out_

Mike didn’t hear the gravel crunching under wheels as he thrashed his head around and belted out the words of Billy Joel. He didn’t even hear the car doors slamming closed. It was only when he finally whirled around to the barn door did he notice his audience.

“Oh, shit!” He yelled, surprised to see Bill and Stan standing there trying to hide their laughter.

“Hey, Mike.” Stan greeted with a small wave, “Nice dancing.”

“Jesus, you guys scared the crap outta me.” Mike exhaled and sat down on the sturdy platform.

“Sorry, m-man, we were sup-p-pposed to come and pick you up though, r-right?” Bill asked with a chuckle.

“Yeah, that’s my bad. I was just working on this.” Mike gestured to the platform, “I thought Eddie could sit on it with his drums, make our set up a little more interesting. And so he’s not hidden behind all of us.”

“That’s a gr-great idea, Mike! Eddie’s gonna l-love it.” Bill exclaimed, “We’ll have to g-g-get Ben to come pick this up in his tr-truck, though.”

Mike wiped the sweat off of his brow and followed the two into Bill’s silver station wagon, grinning from ear to ear. He was so used to not having friends, that it was odd to finally find a group he felt at home with.

Bill was the leader of their little make-shift family, and he suited the part so well. He was stoic and brave, but Mike had caught a glimpse of his soft side when Georgie was around, or when he smiled and watched the losers as they bickered.

At first glance, Stan was like a different species entirely. He was quiet, and when he did choose to speak, his words were often biting and witty. But, Mike had witnessed his soft side too. When he played the keyboard, no matter if it was a classical piece or a rock ballad, the walls he put up fell down. Plus, Stan listened to The Cure religiously, which automatically made Mike’s view of him soften. Robert Smith was a pioneer of emotional, vulnerable, happy-sad music.

Mike smiled at his friends from the backseat as they made their way down the road; his odd, misfitted, eccentric, lovely friends. 

 

Eddie was struggling to string up lights around the house when Bev and Richie burst through the door. He hadn’t asked for help from Ben because he didn’t want to admit that he was too short to reach.

“Need some help with that, Eds?” Richie leapt to his aid, dropping the paper bags he’d been holding dangerously close to Bev’s feet, making a loud clanging sound.

“Watch it, Richie.” Bev scolded as she picked up the bags and carried them into the other room.

“I can get it.” Eddie protested as he watched Richie hang the lights up with ease. While he was busy, Eddie took note of the outfit Richie was wearing. He was in his usual ripped jeans and old sneakers, but wearing a shirt Eddie’d never seen before. The sleeves of it were obviously cut off, as they were frayed and uneven, and dipped so low that Richie’s upper ribs peeked out.

Eddie felt his mouth grow dry; He hated to admit it, but Richie looked good. That week, he’d noticed his stomach churned and his heartbeat quickened when Richie was close to him. This was a problem, because Richie was close to him pretty much all the time. So close that Eddie could practically count the freckles dotting his pale face, notice the almost indiscernible tiny scar he had on his left cheek, the rosy blush that colored his face when he got excited. Eddie now had an endless list of details he’d gotten familiar with on Richie’s face.

Richie adjusted his glasses on his face and stood back to admire his work. Then, he turned to Eddie with a wide smile.

“You ready to rock, Eds? I see you dressed the part.”

Eddie looked down at himself. He’d gotten sweaty with all of the setting up they’d done, and ended up typing Richie’s flannel around his waist. The plaid orange shirt was a comfort he’d hung onto all week, and if Richie noticed, he didn’t mention it. Thankfully.

Eddie surprised Richie and himself by giving him a smirk and replying, “Hell yeah.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, drummer boy!” Richie laughed as he ambled over to their instruments. He picked up his guitar, an old, beat-up, solid bodied thing with a homemade sticker on the side that read “This machine kills fascists”.

Eddie watched as he strummed a few chords, and then began to make sure it was in tune. Richie’s face turned serious as he concentrated on the sound.

Eddie knew for a long time that he wasn’t into girls. It didn’t come in the form of a sudden, life-changing realization, it was a thought that had developed through the years. 

Eddie had spent most of his childhood wondering what was wrong with him because of his mother’s constant worries. She stuffed him full of pills and filled his head with anxieties about the world. He began to think that the medicine would help him with his boy problems.

Of course, now that he was older, Eddie knew that was ridiculous. No pill would cure him of being gay, because it wasn’t something that you could change or something that needed to be cured. 

Eddie was aware that he was overly cautious about things, but it was hard to escape the fear his mother had conditioned him to have. At least he didn’t feel so much self-hatred anymore because he’d believed he was the weak, sickly boy his mother told him he was.

Richie was everything Eddie’s mother despised: Loud, outspoken, reckless, and rebellious. Eddie just needed to figure out if the feelings Richie spurred in him were real, or caused by the feeling of risk and freedom he got when they were together. Maybe it could be both.

Eddie suddenly got the strangest urge to take Richie’s hand and run.

“Is there something on my face?” Richie asked, noticing Eddie looking at him intently.

Eddie’s face began heating up as he scrambled to think of a smart response, “Just some…trash.” 

“Good one, Eds. Trash the thrashmouth.” Richie laughed mockingly. Eddie rolled his eyes and turned to find the others. Another moment ruined, and this time Eddie wasn’t sure which one of them was at fault.

Bev was perched on a counter ledge talking to Ben when he entered the kitchen. Bev gave him a look like she knew something he didn’t, which only made him more annoyed. Yeah, he was ready to rock, to hit his drums as hard as he could until sweat was flying off of him, to let go and forget about his problems.

It was then that Eddie noticed the bags they’d brought had been emptied, and the room was full of beer cans.

“Bev, how the fuck did you get all this beer?” Eddie asked.

“I have my ways.” She shrugged as she hopped off the counter and walked out of the room, leaving them wondering.

Eddie glanced at Ben, who was gazing after Bev with a lovelorn expression on his face.

“Jesus,” Eddie groaned, “Are we all in love with each other?”

“Love? What?” Ben asked, startled. Eddie was surprised too, hadn't meant to say that out loud.

“You and Bev.”

“Woah, okay, I am _not_ in love with Bev.” Ben said, the words tumbling out in a flurry of anxiety, “I just think she’s really cool.”

“Okay…sure. But you definitely like her.” Eddie muttered, watching as the larger boy crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was wearing a black windbreaker over a dark t-shirt and some raggedy jeans. Ben would be acting as sort of a bouncer that night, making sure the wrong people weren’t allowed in (i.e. Henry Bowers and his gang of degenerates) and nobody got too rowdy. Because despite his kind and sweet nature, Ben could look pretty intimidating.

“Well, what about you, then?” Ben furrowed his brows.

“What do you mean?” Eddie tilted his head, trying to act as confused as possible.

“You said we’re all in love with each other.” Ben pointed out, “Who are you in love with?” 

“No one, Jesus!” Eddie declared, getting ready to leave the room and hopefully abandon the conversation at the door.

Eddie truly wasn’t in love with Richie, the words had just slipped out. But, it had forced Eddie to face the fact that he, unfortunately, really liked Richie Tozier; Long, gangly limbs, dorky glasses, and all.

They were both saved from the conversation as Bill, Stan, and Mike filed into the room.

“Jesus that’s…a lot of beer.” Stan looked around, confused.

“Ben, can we borrow your truck?” Mike asked.

“Sure, why?” Ben looked to Mike and Bill.

“You’re g-gonna to want to see this, Eddie.” Bill smiled.

 

Stan stayed behind while Ben drove Mike, Eddie, and Bill back to the farm to collect the platform. He felt compelled to do another thorough check around the house, making sure everything was in it’s right place. 

Stan noted that the string of lights were a nice touch. They hung around the main room, providing a little light and ambience.

They didn’t have the money to buy proper equipment, like the large lights you usually see pointed at a stage or all of the speakers bands typically have. They had to make do with what little money and gear they already had. This resulted in the jury-rigged set up that lay before him.

Their instruments and amps were set up in the back of the room, the rest of the old wooden floors left open and clear in order to allow for any dancing or standing, or whatever people did at parties. Stan didn’t really know.

His keyboard was set up on stage right, next to the line of guitars that sat on their stands. Bev’s bass was leaning on a couple of their amps on the left, and Eddie’s shiny red drum would sit behind them all once they got the platform in. They could only round up two microphones, Derry wasn’t exactly known for its music scene, so Bev, Richie, and Mike would end up sharing.

The light that had been shining through the windows was beginning to slip away, casting longer and darker shadows. It made the abandoned house look even creepier, and Stan got a chill down his spine.

“Scared?” Richie snuck up behind him. Stan jumped, he’d been to busy checking their set up that he hadn’t noticed Richie and Bev had stopped goofing off in the kitchen.

“Damn! I got ya good.” Richie laughed, slapping him on the back.

“Beep-beep, Richie.” Stan replied sourly. He gave himself permission to be a little jumpy that night, it was their first concert after all, even it it was a little improvised and messy.

“Ugh, Stan, why do you hate me?” Richie sighed dramatically.

“You only annoy me when you’re breathing, Rich.” Stan said as he looked out of one of the cloudy windows.

“Stan the man! You’re fucking hilarious, ya know that?” Richie clapped him on the back again, turning his attention to the window.

Ben’s truck was parked in front of the house once more, and all four of the boys were struggling to carry the wooden platform Mike had shown them earlier. Stan opened the front door to let them in, and Richie went over to try and help. Bev helped guide them over to the instruments, where they slowly lowered it. 

All four of the boys were shiny with sweat, panting, and red in the face. They sat down on the floor and drank from water bottles they’d had sitting there in an effort to cool off.

Stan didn’t know how they could sit down at a time like this. The day was drawing to a close, which meant kids would probably start showing up soon. He felt jittery and restless.

They managed to get Eddie’s drum set on the platform, which he was bursting with excitement about. As soon as they were done, he sat down on his stool, took his drumsticks out of his pocket, and started practicing some beats.

They spent the next hour or so testing their instruments and equipment, the last thing they wanted to worry about was a technical difficulty. Most of the outlets in the house worked, but Stan made sure they had extension cords just incase they needed them. Thankfully, both of the microphones were working fairly well, with only a bit of flickering in and out on one of them.

Stan liked his seat off to the side in front of his keyboard. He could keep an eye on all of his friends, except for Eddie, who was placed a little behind him. But Eddie, Stan could hear. The little firecracker was a madman on the drums.

He could watch as Bill grinned at his bandmates, nodding with pride. Richie was practicing his “rock star moves”, which is what he referred to them as. To Stan, it just looked like goofy jumping and spinning around while thrashing your head. It practically gave Stan a headache just looking at him, but it made him smile all the same.

Mike was teaching Bev some vocal warm-ups while they fiddled with their instruments. His dark eyes found Stan’s light browns, and he beamed, showing off his dimples.

Stan’s heart soared as he looked around at his bandmates, happy to have finally found his place.

 

Once they began tuning their instruments and practicing a little, teenagers began to trickle in through the door. Ben was positioned at the door, acting tough as he let people in. It made Bev chuckle to herself, she couldn’t imagine Ben hurting a fly.

The night had made the air a little crisp, which Bev was thankful for. She knew she’d end up drenched in sweat by the end of the night. The energy between her bandmates was electric. They were all buzzing with nerves and excitement.

As the floor began to fill with angsty teenagers with beers in hand, Bev took it upon herself to introduce the band.

“Hey, we’re The Loser’s Club.” She called out into the microphone. The teens all looked at her, and she felt anxious under their harsh gaze.

“We’re here to play some punk rock! And if you don’t like it, fuck you!” Richie yelled with a wide grin on his face. This earned him a collective murmur of laughter from the audience.

Bev looked back to all of her bandmates, who were sharing a similar look of disbelief and happiness. They nodded at each other, signaling the were ready to go into their first song.

Eddie counted them off by clacking his drumsticks above his head before hurtling them into the song.

Richie launched into the lyrics, singing his heart out. It was a song by the Beastie Boys, and it was loud and explosive. They’d debated what song to open with for a while, and eventually settled that they should start off strong  
Bev played her bass and settled into the side of the band. She eventually got comfortable, and even moved around a little bit. Richie was like a wildfire, he moved around the set with reckless abandon. He’d probably jump into the crowd if he could. 

The crowd had been surprisingly receptive to them, bobbing their heads and some even jumping around. Bev figured it was probably whatever alcohol they had in their system that made them respond so well, but whatever it was, she was thankful for it.

When that song ended, it was Bev’s turn to take the lead. She nervously stepped up to the microphone. The next song began slow, and eventually got loud and wild. The boys began to play their guitars and Bev started plucking her bass, eventually opening her mouth to sing,

_Oh yeah_

_Alright_

_Somebody's Heine’_

_Is crowdin' my icebox_

_Somebody's cold one_

_Is givin' me chills_

_Guess I'll just close my eyes_

Bev felt herself ease into the song, just as she had during practice. It had a groovy feel in the beginning, which she loved, so she began to sway to the rhythm. Richie and Bev had picked out the song together. It was an emotional one, as they both felt a connection to the words and feelings contained within Weezer’s music. Both of them felt plagued by the alcoholism in their family, haunted by their relationships with their parents.

_Flip on the tele’_

_Wrestle with Jimmy_

_Something is bubbling_

_Behind my back_

_The bottle is ready to blow_

Bev prepared herself for her favorite part of the song, when she got to practically yell the lyrics along with the powerful lead guitar. She spotted Ben at the back of the room, cheering them on and smiling. Bev grinned as she began the chorus,

_Say it ain't so_

_Your drug is a heart breaker_

_Say it ain't so  
My love is a life taker_

They played most of the songs on their setlist without a hitch, including _Come As You Are_ and their original, _Losers_. Richie and Bev sang the Nirvana song as a duet, like they had that very first band practice. Mike sung the original, and he glided through it with ease.

Of course, Bev should’ve known that it was all going too smoothly. The audience seemed to be enjoying them, but at some point, something went wrong.

The band didn’t realize it until they heard a collective gasp and an “Oh shit!” being yelled from some teenagers near the back of the room. Bev looked up to where Ben had been, but couldn’t find him in the sea of teenagers.

“Shit, it’s B-Bowers.” Bill cursed, spotting his signature sneer among the crowd. The rest of his crew were there too—they must’ve snuck in during their last song.

“Where’s Ben?” Bev asked, still frantically searching.

“There!” Eddie pointed his drumstick into the crowd.

“Oh, fuck!” Richie yelled as they watched Ben stumble forward from the crowd. He was holding his nose as bright red liquid oozed through his fingers.

Mike was the first to leap into action, quickly setting his guitar down and rushing over to Ben. Stan and Eddie followed his lead, and they ushered Ben into another room.

Their crowd began to file out of the house in a hurry as the Bowers gang made their way through them and towards the band.

“Bowers. Get. The. Fuck. Out.” Bev made sure to annunciate each word. She was seeing red, how dare they ruin this night? How dare they punch one the losers?

They would never change. They’d always be there to ruin whatever success the losers were having, angry about their own failures and needing to take it out on someone. They were another reason the losers had to get out of Derry.

“You heard the lady, assholes.” Richie yelled, stomping over to them. 

Henry turned to his gang and laughed, “Well look at this boys, these losers are at the head of this gay little party.”

“Get out, Henry.” Bill said in an almost unnervingly tranquil way. He looked around at his bandmates, his eyes asking them to stay calm.

The two groups had a stare down, neither one wanting to back down.

“Yeah, whatever.” Henry scoffed, finally cracking under their gaze. He tore down the string of lights that were hung up and threw it on the ground, obviously just trying to provoke them to get a reaction, “Fucking freaks.”

Bev crossed her arms as they watched the burnouts leave the house, her jaw clenched. 

Once they were gone, the band let out a huge breath. Bev felt like she could breath again, and then suddenly remembered Ben with his bloody nose.

She ran to find wherever they had scurried him off to, eventually seeing them in the kitchen. 

“Shit, Ben. What happened?” She asked upon seeing him. He was holding a beer can to his black eye, taken from a cooler they’d brought with them. The blood from his nose was mostly cleaned up, but a small drop of blood hung just above his lip.

“They came in, and I tried to push them back out. I didn’t want them ruining your night. You all worked so hard.” Ben shrugged, “He hit me when I told them they had to leave. I’m so sorry, Bev.”

“Sorry? Ben, what are you sorry for?” Bev put a hand on his shoulder, “I should be apologizing to you, I convinced you being our bouncer was a good idea.”

Ben looked up at her through one swollen eye and one clear brown eye, “You just wanted me to feel included. Don’t apologize.”

“Alright…well, here.” Bev sighed, collecting some condensation from the beer car onto her thumb, “You still have some blood under your nose.”

She moved to wipe his face with her thumb, trying to gently rub the crusted red blood away. Neither of them noticed that the other boys had left the room.

“It was going really well up until that point, though. The crowd really liked you guys.” Ben said as he watched her.

“You really think so?” Bev asked excitedly, taking her hand away from his face.

“Definitely.” Ben replied, “I have a good feeling about it.”

 

Once they packed all of their equipment into their vehicles, Stan, Mike, Richie, and Eddie crammed themselves into Bill’s car, leaving Ben and Bev to fall together.

Ben’s truck was packed to the brim with gear as Bev and Ben hopped in.

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” Bev asked, eyeing his black eye and nose.

“I’m fine, really Bev. Just a bit of a headache.” Ben reassured her as he put the key in the ignition. His nose stung and his eye was pulsing, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. Besides, he could see well enough to drive.

The cassette player whirred to life, and it began belting out a song by New Kids On The Block. Ben quickly fumbled to push the button to eject the cassette and turn the dial to the radio. He felt heat in his cheeks and Bev glanced at him with a knowing smile, but remained silent. Throwing the tape into the backseat, he backed his truck out onto the road and began the drive.

Bev spoke excitedly about the band, describing to him the rush she’d felt while playing. She raved about her bandmate’s playing and waved her hands around for emphasis. 

A classic rock song began playing on the radio, only fueling Bev’s devil-may-care energy. She spoke with such a fervor and passion about the band that it made Ben’s heart swell. 

Her blue eyes lit up with mischief as she played with the dials on the truck’s radio until she stopped on a station where the disc jockey was talking about music.

They listened as she introduced the next song, one she labelled a ‘hauntingly beautiful’ new song from the band Radiohead.

A dreamy, slow song began to play, causing Bev to grow quiet and settle into the vinyl seat. They listened to the somber tone of the song, as the singer crooned,

_A green plastic watering can_

_For a fake Chinese rubber plant_

_In the fake plastic earth_

_That she bought from a rubber man_

_In a town full of rubber plans_

_To get rid of itself_

_That she bought from a rubber man_

_In a town full of rubber plans_

_To get rid of itself_

_It wears her out_

It was as if the song caused Bev to sober up. There was a shadow over her face as she listened to the lyrics. The music was raw and powerful, like a slap in the face. She turned her head to face the window, watching as everything outside turned into dark blurs.

_She lives with a broken man_

_A cracked polystyrene man_

_Who just crumbles and burns_

“Can you, uhm, can you stop the car?” Bev asked quietly, still facing away from him.

“Is everything okay?” Ben looked over at her with a worried look on his face as he pulled over, “We’re still a block away from your house.”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna walk the rest of the way.” Bev replied, collecting her things.

The last time Ben had given her a ride home, she’d asked the same thing. Ben thought it was an odd request, but obliged all the same. She had mumbled something about her father being home, and he hadn’t pressed her too hard on the matter. But that time, it’d been during the day. Now, the late spring night hung heavy over them.

“Oh, are you sure?” Ben asked, “It’s gotta be at least 12 o’clock.”

Bev was worrying her lip and glanced outside, “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.” Ben reassured her, and she whipped back around to look at him. She held his gaze for a minute, and through the darkness, Ben could just make out a spark flickering in her baby blue eyes.

The song had reached it’s climax, and Ben could feel the words reverberate in his bones.

_She looks like the real thing_

_She tastes like the real thing_

_My fake plastic love_

_But I can't help the feeling_

_I could blow through the ceiling_

_If I just turn and run_

She sniffed, and then gave him a small smile, “Thanks for the ride, Ben.”

“You know you can talk to me, about anything, right?” Ben offered as she stepped out of the truck.

“I know.” She nodded and softly closed the door. The street lights emitted an orange glow, making her hair even more fiery than usual. He watched as she walked further and further down the road, fading away as the song came to an end.

_And if I could be who you wanted_

_If I could be who you wanted_

_All the time_

_All the time_

Once she was completely gone from his view, he turned his car around and headed home. It was only then that Ben realized Bev had been crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! and thank you for all the kind comments and kudos on my last chapter!
> 
> I wrote this over the course of several late nights so let me know if there are any mistakes.
> 
> also I feel weird writing Henry and his gang bc I'm not sure how to write bullies/antagonists without being too cliche? but I hope I did an okay job ha. 
> 
> I talked about a few things in this chapter that I will definitely come back to, like eddie and bev's sexuality, that I will definitely touch upon more in the future. I just wanted to introduce the ideas.
> 
> The chapter title and the lyrics Bev sings are from Say It Ain't So by Weezer, the song Mike sings along to is Movin' Out by Billy Joel, and the song that plays in Ben's truck at the end is Fake Plastic Trees by Radiohead
> 
> hope you enjoyed the chapter! the next one should be up sometime next week, but sorry I never really know when exactly it'll be, college is a little crazy. thanks again :-)
> 
> -ro


	5. Your Crystal Ball Ain't So Crystal Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The losers celebrate their last day of high school, get a little drunk, and talk about the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! little disclaimer: body issues & self-hate is briefly discussed, as well as drinking and alcohol. So, if that's not your thing, might not wanna read this chapter! just thought I'd let ya know :-)

May 25, 1994

It had been a week and a half since they performed in the house on Neibolt street. The days had moved quickly, as exams were over and the school days were filled with assemblies and other events meant to inspire school spirit.

Stan had always avoided school functions like the plague. Which is another reason he was ever thankful that he found the losers.

All of them, except for Mike, were currently lounging underneath the bleachers as they attended some event their teachers had forced them to go to. It was literally the last day of school, and teachers were still pulling this shit. 

“We’re finally free from the prison that is high school, I feel like it should be commemorated.” Stan said dryly.

“That’s what a graduation ceremony is for, Stanley.” Richie replied, lazily draping himself over a beam.

Derry High had had it’s ceremony last Saturday, which Stan reluctantly attended. He posed for pictures and wore a nice suit and smiled for his parents sake, but it didn’t feel real. It’d just made him feel fake, putting up a front and pretending that high school hadn’t been hellish.

Bill, Ben, and Eddie had been there, fortunately, so he had them to stick with while they waited to collect their diplomas. Everyone around them were hugging and crying and saying goodbye to each other, but Stan didn’t need to. The only people that were important to him were the losers, and they weren’t going anywhere.

“Not what I meant, Dick.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“You didn’t even go to graduation, Richie.” Eddie crossed his arms.

“Yeah, because that shit is pointless.” Richie waved his arms around for emphasis, “Believe me, I know I graduated high school. I don’t need some dumbass ceremony to remind me that I just spent four years of my life doing dumb shit I’ll never have to do again for people I’ll never have to see again.”

“Th-that’s exactly why we should h-have our own ceremony.” Bill explained, “W-we all hated school, but we s-s-survived.”

“We could meet in the Barrens and have a little party, just us losers.” Bev suggested.

“How about we meet at seven? I’ve gotta be home for dinner.” Stan anxiously ran a hand through his light brown curls that had become frizzy from the heat. 

Stan had missed a few family dinners that week, sacrificing them in favor of band practice. The guilt of lying to his parents was starting to weigh on him, so he decided that he’d finally tell them about the band tonight. He was a nervous wreck.

The night before, Stan had snuck out of the house for the first time in his life. It was thrilling; he could feel his heart beat all through his arms and felt like he was going to throw up. He knew he’d be exhausted the next day, but he couldn’t find it in himself to really care.

Bill had picked him up in his station wagon, and then they’d gone around to get some of the other losers. They were on official band business, heading to an audition to play at a bar in the neighboring town of Bangor.

Richie had heard about the bar from some classmate that had been at their concert. The bar, known as The Standpipe, let amateur local bands sign up to play every once in a while, given the owner liked them.

Richie had recruited Bill to travel with his to the Bangor so they could convince the owner, an old guy called King, to let them play. He agreed to let them come in and play a couple songs before he opened the bar that night.

So, they played Basket Case by Green Day and a brand new original song. The song was written by Bill and Ben in just one night, and it didn’t even have a name yet. Stan was a little hesitant about playing it, but Bill told them all that if they weren't true to themselves, then there was no point.

King had been hard to read after they’d finished their short set, but he told them he’d call and let them know by the end of the week. The losers were left with bags under their eyes and tired grins on their faces.

If they got the gig, it would be their first paying concert. Although the cash wasn’t much, it was good enough for the losers. They weren't exactly in it for the money, but it was exciting that they might be able to consider playing in a band a job. 

Needless to say, all of them were anxiously awaiting the call.

Stan was so busy running different scenarios of his parent’s potential reactions in his head that he barely registered the others chattering on about what time they should meet and what they should bring. He began picking at the skin on his hands anxiously, completely zoned out.

A hand resting over his brought him back to reality, and he turned to see Bill smiling at him. Stan’s heart jumped into his throat as he saw the look of concern in his friend’s dark blue eyes.

“You okay there, Stan?” He quietly asked.

Stan puffed out a laugh and nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bill looked unconvinced, but took his hand back and let the subject drop. The losers parted ways after the principal dismissed the students from the assembly, and Stan shuffled through the masses, reluctantly heading home.

 

Georgie practically skipped over to the car when he saw that Bill was the one picking him up today. It was his last day of elementary school, and Bill wanted to surprise his younger brother with a trip to get some ice cream.

“Have a g-good day, Georgie?” Bill smiled when his younger brother clambered into the passenger seat.

“Yeah! We had a party and Jimmy’s mom brought in a whole bunch of candy and Meg brought in soda and Ms. Dean brought in cookies and, and, and…” Georgie paused to take a breath and think as took some candy out of his pocket. 

“Well…s-since you had all that…I’m _sure_ you w-wouldn’t want any ice cream, right?” Bill asked as he pulled out of the school’’s parking lot and headed down the road.

“What? Billy, of course I want ice cream.” Georgie said, trying to hide the candy in his backpack.

“No, no, no. You can’t _possibly_ want any.” Bill grinned.

“No, I do! Really!” Georgie exclaimed.

Bill drove them to Freese’s diner, where he knew Bev was working that evening. She told them she wouldn’t be able to meet them at the Barrens until 9, but the rest of them could go ahead and meet at 7 anyways. Bill figured she could use some company for an hour or so before they had to go home for dinner.

As they walked through the door, Bill was surprised he spotted a familiar face seated at the counter, hunched over a notebook and a burger.

“G-go ahead and find us a booth.” He told Georgie before taking a seat next to Ben.

“Ben, what are you d-doing here?” Bill smiled and peered down at what Ben was writing.

“Oh, hey, Bill. I, uh…” Ben started as he tried to casually cover the poem with his elbow.

“He gave me a ride after school and decided to stay and keep me company.” Bev replied as she walked behind the counter and collected a plate from the kitchen window.

“Well, I’m h-here with Georgie if you wanna j-join us.” Bill offered, placing a hand on Ben’s shoulder.

“Okay, sure, thanks.” Ben said, hopping up from his stool and grabbing his plate.

Bev went to deliver the order she picked up to an elderly gentleman sitting in a corner table, telling them she’d be over to their’s in a minute. Ben and Bill found Georgie in a booth by the window, bouncing in his seat.

“Ben!” Georgie called.

“Hey, Georgie.” Ben replied with a smile as they slid into the booth.

“Hi Georgie!” Bev greeted as she appeared at their table.

“Bev! You work here?” Georgie looked up at her in awe.

“I sure do.” Bev took out the pencil she had had perched behind her ear, “What can I get for you boys today?”

“One ice cream s-sundae, please.” Bill told her.

“You want the works? Chocolate sauce, cherries, sprinkles?”

“Georgie?” Bill looked to his brother.

“Yes, please!” Georgie exclaimed.

“Alright, I’ll be right back with that.” Bev smiled at them and went back over to the counter.

While they were waiting for the sundae, Georgie told Ben and Bill stories from school. He added that he’d miss elementary school, but was excited for middle school. Bill had no doubt he’d enjoy it, Georgie was the type of kid that flourished in school; Outgoing, easy-going, and seemingly always cheerful.

Not that he didn’t have his problems. For months after they’d gotten Georgie back all those years ago, he’d wake up crying. He’d crawl into Bill’s bed, who would tell him stories of fantastic adventures with brave protagonists and happy endings until he fell asleep. His nightmares had lessened over the years, but behind his eyes there was still a glimmer of unease and distrust, which Bill feared would never completely go away.

Bill turned his attention back to Georgie, who was happily describing his day to Ben. The urge to protect and shield Georgie from anything and everything surged in his chest. Bill didn’t want to shelter Georgie from the world, but couldn’t help the guilt about the kidnapping that had settled into his gut long ago.

“Here ya go, one sundae.” Bev said as she placed the dessert covered in toppings in front of Georgie and Bill, “Do you want me to take that plate for you, Ben?”

“Oh, thanks Bev.” Ben smiled and handed his empty plate to Bev. 

She turned to leave, but not before giving Georgie a wink.

“Bev’s so cool.” Georgie watched as she disappeared into the kitchen, “Can I _please_ sit in on your next band practice?”

Bill hesitated as Georgie dug into his ice cream.

“Please, Bill? I swear I won’t tell Mom and Dad.” Georgie pleaded between spoonfuls. His mouth was already covered in chocolate sauce, with some dripping down his hands. 

Bill shook his head, amazed that he’d managed to get it all over himself in such a short amount of time, “Fine, alright, just s-stop cursing in front of them. They already hate R-Richie enough as it is.”

Georgie agreed and happily and continued to eat his ice cream. Bill thought back to Ben’s notebook, curious as to why he wouldn’t let him see it.

The two spent the night after graduation over at Ben’s house, furiously writing and brainstorming ideas for songs. Bill had gotten a peek into Ben’s world, from the New Kids On The Block poster on his wall, to the architecture books on his shelves, to his mother who was very insistent on checking on them every half hour to make sure they weren’t hungry until she promptly fell asleep at 10. They had stayed awake until they finally finished writing a song at 4 am, snacking on pizza and listening to Sonic Youth.

The song was still unnamed, but it was fueled by frustration with society, bullies, and self-loathing. Ben had talked about his image issues, and while he’d gotten a little thinner since he was a kid, he still could barely stand the sight of himself in a mirror. Bill spoke of his issues with his speech impediment; He felt like when he talked people either looked at him with pity or like he was an alien. They bonded over their shared feeling of alienation and wanting others to actually listen to their words and not just judge them by their outstanding traits. Because ultimately, they decided, those features made them who they were.

Bill felt like the two of them had shared so many personal thoughts and details that nothing would be embarrassing anymore. Today, however, Ben seemed oddly stiff.

The cheery and upbeat pop song that had been playing from the diner’s jukebox ended and a new song began. Bill recognized it as The Rolling Stones, but one of their slower ballads.

_Childhood living is easy to do_

_The things you wanted I bought them for you_

_Graceless lady you know who I am_

_You know I can't let you slide through my hands_

Ben was staring at something behind Bill’s shoulder, so he turned to see Bev sweeping the floor. Her notepad hung in the pocket of her apron, and the pencil had returned to its place behind her ear. She was singing along quietly as she worked.

_Wild horses couldn't drag me away_

_Wild, wild horses couldn't drag me away_

Bill turned back to Ben, awash with a new understanding, “S-so…Bev, huh?”

“What?” Ben’s attention snapped to Bill.

Bill studied Ben’s face. The purple bruise around his eye was finally fading, and he was chewing his lip. A pink tint was starting to color his cheeks as his brown eyes darted from Bill to Bev to Georgie.

“Am I that transparent?” Ben asked as he sighed in resignation. 

“N-not really. I mean, I did just catch you st-staring, but I read a few words in your n-notebook before you hid it, like,” Bill paused to think, “‘winter fire’?”

“Sorry about that by the way, I didn’t want Bev to see it.” Ben flipped through his notebook until he found the page in question, “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course not.” Bill held his hands up and then dug around in his pockets for some change, “Georgie, do you wanna g-go choose a song on the jukebox?”

Georgie looked up from his near empty bowl, “Sure!”

As he trotted over to the jukebox with a few quarters, Bill turned back to Ben.

“Here, you can read it.” Ben shrugged sheepishly, pushing his notebook over, “I’m still working on it, though.”

Bill scanned over the words and smiled, “Ben, you should g-give this to her. Or at least t-tell her how you feel.”

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship. Or the band.” Ben shook his head.

“You w-wouldn’t ruin either, Ben, that’s ridiculous.” Bill reassured him, “Now, this is just my thinking, but it’s b-better to be honest with someone and make things a little awkward than to suffer in silence. She’d w-w-wanna know how you feel, trust me.”

Ben regarded him for a minute, “I trust you, Bill. I’ll think about it.”

Bill smiled and Georgie ran back over to the booth, having chosen a song by Duran Duran to play. 

He understood Ben’s concerns completely, but he whole heartedly believed Bev would want to know. Bev was the type of person that would take that sort of information on stride if the feelings weren’t reciprocated. She cared too much about them all to let it destroy the losers. 

Now that Bill knew, he realized it should have been obvious. At first glance, the two would seem like opposites, but upon closer inspection, one could see that they both stood up for what they believed in, just in different ways. Bev expressed her anger through curses and middle fingers, and Ben used a pencil and paper. They balanced each other out, and they’d be good for one another. Bill looked back and forth from where Ben sat in front of him to where Bev was working and started forming a theory from all the little glances and smiles that Ben’s feelings weren’t hopeless at all.

 

Eddie was the first to get to the Barrens, as he figured he would be. He was sitting on a rock waiting for the others, watching as the sun slowly dipped behind the hills. He’d been eager to get out of the house after dinner, so he left a little early.

His mom had been badgering him about what he was going to do now that he’d graduated. Before he was in the band, he’d somehow managed to convince her to let him go to college. Her only condition was that he went to one in Maine, so he could either live at home or visit her on the weekends. He begrudgingly agreed, although his whole reason for going to college was to get away from home.

Now that he had the band, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Or what the others were going to do. He didn’t know if they wanted to keep playing together, or if he was supposed to move on, go to college, and try and forget about his friends. Eddie desperately wanted to keep the losers close, and he hoped they felt the same.

Eddie checked his watch as he took out his inhaler and inhaled a puff. It was 7:03, and Eddie was beginning to get anxious. He was just beginning to get up so he could start pacing when he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. He stared ahead with an unimpressed look on his face; he recognized those clumsy footsteps.

“Boo!” Richie shouted as he jumped out at him. There was an echo off of the cliffs and rocks of the Barrens, and a whoosh as a few black birds flew out of the trees.

“I heard you coming, asshole.” Eddie crossed his arms and turned to look at him, “You’re not very quiet.”

“Yeah, well.” Richie walked around, now standing in front of him. He adjusted his glasses so they sat straighter on the bridge of his nose and brushed a leaf off of his denim jacket. Eddie didn’t bother mentioning there were a few more green leaves tangled in his curly hair.

“Wow, no joke about how my mom said the same thing to you last night?” Eddie raised his eyebrows.

“It was too easy.” Richie shrugged, his red lips pursed, dark eyes darting everywhere but Eddie.

“Weird.” Eddie muttered and pushed up his sleeves.

“You’re weird. But hey,” Richie grinned widely as he wiggled a tall glass bottle in front of his nose, “I brought booze!”

“Why?” Eddie asked, pushing the bottle out of his face.

“We’re celebrating, aren’t we?” Richie laughed as he sat the bottle down, “My parents’ liquor cabinet didn’t have any champagne, so vodka’ll have to do.”

“They won’t miss it?” Eddie scratched his head worriedly. 

“They hardly even notice _I’m_ there, they won’t miss one bottle.” Richie shrugged. Before Eddie could ask what he meant, two more losers came ambling through the trees.

“Guys! I’ve got g-great news.” Bill said, mouth wide in a grin and cheeks slightly pink. Mike was following close behind him with a similar look on his face.

“What? You two eloped?” Richie asked as he plopped onto the ground. Eddie furrowed his eyebrows and looked to Richie, confused. 

“I got a call from King, the owner of The Standpipe? He said he’ll hire us to play a few nights!” Bill exclaimed, seemingly ignoring Richie’s comment and leaving Eddie with questions. 

“No fucking way!” Richie laughed as he leapt up to hug Bill and Mike.

“That’s great, you guys.” Eddie smiled.

“Great? Eddie, my dear, it’s unbelievable, it’s outstanding, it’s incredible.” Richie said in his best Irish accent.

“Eddie, get in here!” Mike beckoned him over. 

They engulfed Eddie in a hug that put his face too close to Richie’s for comfort. Eddie could feel his curls tickle the side of his face, and he knew if he turned his head even slightly to the left, they would be nose to nose. 

“What’d I miss?” Ben asked from behind them, causing them to disband. 

“We’re gonna get to play at The Standpipe! We actually got the gig!” Mike grinned at his friends.

“Someone thinks we’re good enough to hire!” Richie began to dance around in celebration.

“Congratulations, you guys.” Ben grinned.

“We c-couldn’t’ve done it without you, Ben. You’re a part of this b-band too.” Bill said reassuringly.

“That shiner ya got proves it!” Richie gave Ben a friendly push to the shoulder.

“Well, thank god for that.” Ben said sarcastically as he set the cooler he’d been holding down onto a rock.

“What d’ya got in there?” Richie asked, poking it.

“I brought the beer that was leftover from the concert. It’s just been sitting in my room, so I figured we might as well drink it.” Ben shrugged and opened the lid.

Richie smirked and swung his arm around Ben’s shoulder and, again in his Irish accent, said “Let’s get plastered, lads.” 

 

Mike had scrambled to collect a handful of CDs and his stereo when Bill honked his horn to signal he was outside. He’d received a call from Bill at around 6 to tell him the losers were meeting in the Barrens for a small party. They were all bringing something, and Mike took it upon himself to choose the music.

At the moment, Bill was looking through his selection as the other boys lazed around in the Barrens. The stars were finally starting to appear in the sky, easily visible in the cobalt blue sky surrounding them. 

Bill finally selected the _Ill Communication_ album and popped it into the stereo. The loud and brash sounds of the Beastie Boys filtered through the speakers, causing them all to tap their feet or bob their heads.

“I wonder where Stan is.” Mike said, looking around at the trees. It was odd that the boy hadn’t shown up yet, he always arrived to band practice right on the dot.

“Yeah, he was the one that decided 7, and he can’t even show up on time.” Richie huffed as he put his hands behind his head. 

“That’s really weird, he’s never late.” Eddie’s face twisted with concern.

Richie laughed, “Oh yeah, he’s like, super anal about that sort of stuff, isn’t he?”

“Stop it, something must be wrong.” Eddie pushed Richie’s shoulder.

“I’m sure he’ll sh-show up, you guys. He pr-probably just got hung up with something. He said he had to have d-d-dinner with his parents, maybe they kept him.” Bill suggested.

“You’re probably right.” Mike agreed in an attempt to keep the peace.

As it turns out, Bill _was_ right. Not even 10 minutes later, Stan came trudging over to them from the woods.

“Stanley Uris! You're late, that is _so_ unlike you.” Richie wagged his finger at him teasingly as he attempted to imitate a scolding mother.

“And its not like you to care. I didn’t realize I needed to be on time.” Stan snapped back, taking a defensive stance.

“You didn’t.” Richie recoiled, “Sorry, man.”

Mike cleared his throat, “Well, we’re just glad you’re here now.” 

“Right. Sorry, guys, uh…bad night.” Stan shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You want a b-beer?” Bill offered, heading over to the cooler.

“Got anything stronger?” Stan looked up at Bill.

“Hell yeah! Stan the man.” Richie laughed as he grabbed the bottle he brought and slipped it into Stan’s hand.

They waited patiently as Stan took a few sips, wincing his way through it. When he was done, he drew in a deep breath.

“I told my parents about the band.” He explained as he passed the bottle back to Richie.

“Ah.” Bill nodded as the others looked at him sympathetically.

“They couldn’t understand why I joined. I told them how much fun I was having, ya know? How I finally had friends…but they just kept telling me it was a waste of time.” Stan raked his hands through his hair, pulling at the curls, “I mean…I don’t know about you losers, but this band was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me. I can’t imagine doing anything else. I finally…I finally feel happy. How is that a waste of time?”

“It’s not.” Mike told him softly, patting him on the back.

“Before I met you guys, I was going to go to college, earn a degree in something practical—like accounting— get a good job, settle down; My parents had my life laid out for me, but now I’m not so sure I want to follow their plan.” Stan confessed, “This is the first time in my life I’ve felt uncertain about the future.”

“I’ve always wanted to get out of Derry. This town is like a black hole. If you stay here too long, it sucks you in and you get stuck forever.” Richie threw back his head as he took a shot of the vodka.

“Not really how black holes work, but I get what you mean.” Stan nodded.

“Well, whatever. All I know is I don’t wanna end up stuck in the same cycle as most of the people here. Working a dead end job, marrying some girl you barely care about, and being so goddamn depressed that you end up drinking yourself to death.” Richie grumbled.

“Jesus, that’s bleak.” Ben muttered, sipping a beer coolly. 

“Yeah, well that’s what Derry does to you,” Richie raised his hands in defeat, “It’s poison.”

“I’d love to leave this town.” Mike said, causing all eyes to fall onto him. He was squinting into the distance, watching as the tree branches swayed in the breeze, “As much as I’ve loved working on the farm, there’s so much more out there. I wanna see it all and have a real adventure instead of just reading about one.”

“Where w-would you wanna go?” Bill asked.

“Anywhere. Everywhere.” Mike sighed, “Does it really matter, though? I can’t imagine ever actually escaping Derry.”

“Me neither.” Eddie moaned, putting his head in his hands.

“You c-can’t think like that, can’t be so…defeatist. We can make it out if we’re together.” Bill spoke with such determination that Mike found himself actually believing his words. 

Silence fell over the boys as they contemplated what Bill said. Richie stood up suddenly, and ran up the hill that led to a cliff. The others tracked Richie curiously as he reached the edge, which was facing where they were seated. Beneath it was a small lake that was fed by the Kenduskeag Stream. Mike watched as Richie kicked rocks into the water, making small ripples on the otherwise still surface.

“Fuck you, Derry!” Richie yelled, “We’re the losers and we’re invincible!”

The boys laughed at his ridiculousness but followed his lead, and headed to the cliff’s edge.

“That’s right!” Mike shouted, “You can’t kill us!”

Each of the boys took their turns shouting their own ‘fuck you’ into the night sky, before they spit into the lake as their final form of protest, inspired by the chaotic song that played in the background.

_I can't stand it I know you planned it_

_But I'm gonna set it straight, this Watergate_

_I can't stand rocking when I'm in here_

_Because your crystal ball ain't so crystal clear_

_So while you sit back and wonder why_

_I got this fucking thorn in my side_

_Oh my Good, it's a mirage_

_I'm tellin' y'all it's a sabotage_

They made their way back to the clearing where they sat earlier, and the next hour was filled with the losers listening to angst ridden music and imagining what they wanted their future to look like. When the first album ended, Richie remanded that Mike put on another rock album, none of “that Britpop crap you and Billy are so fond of”. To the trashmouth’s absolute delight, Mike had a Rage Against The Machine CD to put in the stereo.

They shared their dreams of playing stages all across the country as the album played. Bill jokingly suggested that they buy a van, pack up all of their gear, and head out to California. The joke was quickly turned into a serious option, as each of the boys discovered that they were totally into that idea.

They took turns taking sips from the vodka bottle, passing it around the circle they’d made on the ground. They were all a little buzzed by the time Bev arrived around 9, laughing and looking at each other through glazed eyes.

“I brought some leftover pie from work if you guys want any. And…this.” Bev smiled mischievously as she produced a bottle of whiskey from her messenger bag.

“Alright, Bev!” Richie clapped, “Come join the party.”

 

The album had ended and none of them had bothered to change it yet. The losers were taking turns trying the whiskey, each taking a sip and cringing to some degree. 

Eddie’s face twisted up in a way that made Richie want to pinch his cheeks as he coughed out, “That tasted like a fucking band-aid.”

Eddie passed the bottle to Stan, and sat down between Mike and Bill. He caught Richie looking at him and stuck his tongue out, causing Richie’s heart to swell and quickly avert his eyes.

“You want a smoke?” Bev offered, holding out her carton of Marlboros. She sat to his left, peering at him through charcoal smudged eyes.

Richie risked another glance at Eddie, who was busy talking to Bill and Mike. He was wearing a simple t-shirt underneath a pair of blue overalls that would’ve made anyone else look like a farmer. He still had on Richie’s flannel, but had the sleeves rolled up because of the heat, revealing that he had finally removed his bandages, leaving his white scars exposed.

“No, I’m good. Thanks.” Richie replied.

Bev followed his gaze and smirked, “Yeah alright, lover boy.”

“Shut up.” Richie scoffed as he knocked down the last of his beer, then turned to Bill and Mike and yelled, “What other CDs you got, boys?”

“Oasis, Blur, The Beatles…” Mike listed.

Richie made a disgruntled noise. He was in the mood for something he couldn’t exactly put his finger on. 

“I think I have a D-David Bowie CD in my car.” Bill replied, getting up and brushing off his pants.

Richie’s eyes lit up as he looked at Bill excitedly, “Ziggy?”

“‘Course,” Bill gave him a lopsided grin.

“Go get it!” Richie commanded, waving in the direction of the road.

“On it.” Bill was already walking towards the trees.

“I’ll go with him.” Mike said, quickly getting up and following him.

“What’s up with those two?” Stan asked in a bitter tone from his seat next to Ben.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asked, looking over at him curiously.

“Nothing, I don’t know.” Stan muttered, crossing his arms.

“Well is it nothing, or something you don’t know, Stan?” Richie flipped over on the rock he had been leaning on so he was looking around at them upside down. 

“Beep-beep, Richie.” Ben gave him a stern look.

“It just seems like they spend a lot of time together, more than the rest of us, even.” Stan confessed.

“Their music taste is pretty similar, they both love Oasis.” Bev reasoned.

“They’re both nerds that like British boys, is this news?” Richie was starting to feel all the blood rush into his head, so he rolled back into his original position.

“Wait…are you saying they’re…gay?” Eddie looked even more confused than before. Richie would’ve laughed if it didn’t make him a little sick to his stomach that Eddie hadn’t immediately accepted it. He’ll admit it, he mainly said it so he could gauge Eddie’s reaction.

“We f-found two Bowie CDs! Ziggy and Space Oddity.” 

Bill and Mike returned from the car before he could answer and the conversation quickly stopped. The two looked around at the others questionably as Bill placed the Ziggy CD into the player.

The starting song immediately put the group at ease. It was slow and calming, with David Bowie singing about the end of the world, backed by a piano.

Richie took the bottle of liquor from Stan and began to drink as he listened to the beautiful crescendo in the song. He slid down so he had a better view of the starry sky above him. 

He stayed quiet, letting his friends do the talking for a change. He listened as the others discussed what they’d play for the concert at The Standpipe and they talked more about the future. By the time Moonage Daydream was blasting from the speakers, a warmth had spread through Richie’s chest and stomach, and his head was a little fuzzy.

“I’m fuckin’…I’m in love with Davie Bowie…I love him…” Richie slurred as he stared up at the sky, a dreamy expression on his face. The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust was one of Richie’s favorite albums, David Bowies vocals never failed to transport him to another world, another galaxy.

“Is…is Richie gay?” Eddie quietly murmured to on of the losers, clearly trying to be discreet.

“I’d like everyone to know. Here and now.” Richie sat up too quickly, and had to pause and hold his head a minute.

Once he recovered, he started again, “I’m gay. I think. I’m pretty sure. So…take it or leave it. Take it or…or leave _me_.”

“Of c-course we’re not gonna leave, Rich.” Bill looked at his best friend, concerned.

The others murmured agreement as Bill guided the bottle out of Richie’s hands. 

“Are you sure?” Richie asked, zeroing in on Eddie.

Eddie simply nodded back, dark eyes staring straight into Richie’s.

Richie looked around at all of the losers, “Thanks. You guys are my best friends, ya know that?”

“We know, Richie.” Stan rolled his eyes fondly.

As the rest of the album played, the losers broke up into small groups. Richie remained in his spot on the ground, with a great view of the stars. Bev, Ben, and Bill sat a few feet away, deep in conversation about something. Richie couldn’t be bothered to eavesdrop, but was grateful for Bev, who kept glancing over at him with a reassuring smile. Stan sat a little further away, describing all of the birds that would come out now that the seasons were changing to Mike, who was trying his best to look interested. Richie applauded him.

Eddie was sitting by the stereo and flipping through the CDs, knees pulled close to his chest. _Rock ’N’ Roll Suicide_ had just faded out, ending the Ziggy Stardust album, and Eddie was replacing it with another CD. Richie recognized it as soon as he heard the faint guitar strums fading in.

“Eddie…Eds…come ‘ere.” Richie waved him over as he sat up and leaned on his elbows.

“Don’t call me Eds, trashmouth.” Eddie whispered as he walked over to him, “What do you want?”

“Why’re you whispering?” Richie asked, now whispering too.

“I don’t know.” Eddie sputtered, “What do you want?”

“Just lay here and listen with me.” Richie laid back down and faced the constellations once more.

Eddie settled beside him, fidgeting every once in a while. Richie was surprised he’d even did it, considering his issue with dirt and germs.

_This is Ground Control to Major Tom_

_You've really made the grade_

_And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear_

_Now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare_

“Don’t you just feel like you’re in space?” Richie hummed, “Like you’re in another world.”

“Kinda…” Eddie took a puff from his inhaler.

This is Major Tom to Ground Control

I'm stepping through the door

And I'm floating in a most peculiar way

And the stars look very different today

“Rich?” Eddie asked quietly.

“Yeah, Eddie?” Richie looked away from the sky to glance at Eddie, who’s eyes were trained on the sky.

“What…did you mean when you said you’re parents don’t notice you?”

Richie was taken aback by the question. He didn’t think Eddie picked up on what he said earlier.

“They just don’t really care. About anything. Even me. I pass through the house at all hours of the day and night and they don’t even bat an eye.” Richie explained, looking at Eddie’s eyes through his long black eyelashes.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Eddie blinked, scrunching his face up in that way Richie had grown to love.

“It is, trust me. My mom has pretty much checked out, and my dad drinks all the time. He’s barely ever home anyways.” Richie shrugged.

“That’s really shitty, Rich.” Eddie finally turned to meet Richie’s eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Richie held his gaze. He hadn’t been upset about it before, it had become such a normal thing that he usually laughed it off, but Eddie’s solemn look caused Richie to feel a pang in his chest. 

Tears threatened to sting his eyes as he smiled sadly, “Me too.”

 

Ben, Bev, and Bill sat around one of the battery operated lanterns Stan had brought. He’d said they were from his Boy Scout days, and Ben was grateful for even the smallest amount of light it produced.

The light was glowing blue, and it casted odd shadows and highlights on all of their faces. However, Ben could still see Bev’s eyes light up when she laughed, and the dimples in her freckled cheeks when she grinned; When she closed her eyes to listen to the music or snuck a glance to check on Richie, Ben noticed.

“I’ve never felt better than when I’m performing with you guys.” Bev smiled.

Bill nodded, “It seems like e-everyone feels the same. If the band is s-something we all want to continue doing, then we should make a plan.”

“Like buying a van and moving to LA?” Ben chuckled.

“Exactly.” Bill smiled.

“Well, I’m in.” Bev shrugged.

“What—really? Just like that?” Ben asked.

“I’ve gotta get out of Derry. I’ll take a chance on this band if it means I get to leave this hellhole. All it has is bad memories and dead ends.” Bev twisted on of her short ginger locks and gazed at the ground.

Both of the boys nodded and looked at her empathetically—they knew exactly what she meant. 

“We’ll be the first successful thing to come out of this town.” Ben declared.

“H-hopefully.” Bill gave them both a crooked smile.

“We will. Can’t you just feel it, Bill?” Bev sprawled out her hands and looked at them in the dim light, “It’s like a tingling in my fingers and toes.”

“You s-sure that’s not just nerve damage?” Bill asked, grinning.

“Oh, hardy-har.” Bev gave him a shove to the shoulder, “Yes, I’m sure, Billy. It’s the feeling that this band is gonna be something.”

“I’m gonna go talk to M-Mike and Stan, see what they w-wanna do.” Bill stood up, brushing the dirt off of his pants, “Maybe they’ll have some better ideas.”

“Hey, moving to California in a van is a _great_ idea!” Bev defended as Bill started over to the others. He turned and gave them a smile before taking a seat between Mike and Stan.

Bev yawned and stretched her arms up to the sky.

“Tired?” Ben asked.

Bev hummed, “A little.”

Ben didn’t have a watch, but he guessed it was at least 12 o’clock. It wasn’t that late, but Bev did go to school _and_ have a shift at the diner. He’d left around 7 to meet the boys, while she stayed and worked. Bev looked over at him and gave him a sleepy smile.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” Ben offered, finding his keys in the pocket of his ripped jeans.

“No, no. I’m okay.” Bev reassured him, “I might just go to sleep here. It’s sorta comfy.”

Ben watched as she settled down on the ground, stretching her limbs out. The rock under her head didn’t look too comfortable.

“You can sleep in the back of my truck, if you want. I think I have a blanket in the backseat.” Ben offered without really thinking about it. 

Bev looked over at him in surprise, “Okay, sure. That’d be great, Ben.”

Bev followed Ben to his truck, which was parked just outside the Barrens on the side of the road. He took the lantern with them, so they could see their way through the trees and so he could find his way back.

Ben collected the blanket from the backseat, it’d been leftover from the last time Ben had piled their equipment and moved it. He had used the blanket to cushion the instruments so they didn’t get thrown around.

He threw it into the bed of the baby blue truck, allowing Bev to climb in. She chose to lay on top of the blanket instead of covering herself with it, already warm from the summer night.

“Night, Bev.” Ben smiled and looked over the sides of the truck at her curled up on the blanket.

“Wait, Ben uh…” Bev reached out, “Do you want to…stay? With me?”

Ben was glad it was dark out as he felt heat rush into his cheeks, “Uh…are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She replied confidently, “I don’t want to be out here alone.” 

“O…kay.” Ben nodded nervously.

“Unless you don’t want to.” Bev suddenly rushed to say, “I’m sorry I didn’t think about it. You totally don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I’ll be okay.”

“No, I want to.” Ben told her reassuringly. He climbed into the truck as she settled back down and looked up at the sky. 

The blanket was soft underneath him as he made himself comfortable beside her. They were at least 3 inches apart, but Ben felt closer than ever.

The air around them was silent except for the sound of their breathing and the croak of frogs and crickets hidden in the grass below.

Ben stared up at the sky, it was a swirling mass of deep purples and blues dotted with bright stars. Before Ben knew it, he was lulled to sleep.

 

Bev glanced over at Ben, who slept beside her. His breathing had turned shallow almost as soon as they’d laid down, but Bev was having some trouble. 

She did most nights, which is why she usually didn’t go to bed until 3 am, when her eyes could barely stay open and she was truly exhausted. It was partly nerves that kept her up, and partly the fact that she usually didn’t want to wake up the next day.

Ben looked peaceful in sleep, his mouth slightly parted and his dark eyelashes down. Bev brushed a stray hair out of his face, before quickly drawing her hand back. The boy huffed in his sleep and wiggled around before settling down again.

Bev cursed herself, wondering when she got so creepy. She was sure Ben was starting to notice all of the glances and smiles she sent his way. But because he was kind, he never mentioned it. It was a little embarrassing, Bev hadn’t had a real crush in a long time.

She closed her eyes, finding some solace in the quiet sounds of Ben breathing and crickets chirping. 

Bev wondered if the others noticed their absence, or if they were too wrapped up in each other. Smiling, she thought of Richie and Eddie, who were laying with their heads close together when they left.

Bill, Mike, and Stan would be so involved in their conversation that they might not notice. She pictured them listening as the CD played and eventually all drifting off to sleep, lulled by the alcohol in their systems and the quiet buzz of the stereo.

Their words would slow and their eyelids would become heavy as they struggled to stay awake, and eventually they’d fall onto each other in sleep.

Bev thought of the band, which was becoming more and more of a reality. It had started off as such a pipe dream, Bev wasn’t sure when it had started to become legitimate. She was just glad it did.

She was excited to play at The Standpipe; they finally had a real paying gig. It had made it seem all the more real. Bev started to imagine what she wanted the future to look like: traveling with her friends, making pit stops along the way, reaching the ocean—they all seemed so much closer now.

Snapshots of a possible bright future kept flashing in her mind and without even realizing it, Bev drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! your comments and kudos motivate me to write so much so thank you to all who left me some on the previous chapters.
> 
> sorry if the end of this feels a little rushed, I really wanted to get this out! I might go back and edit it later, but I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Sabotage by Beastie Boys is mentioned in the chapter and the title, and I used some lyrics from Space Oddity by David Bowie. I think that's it. 
> 
> thanks again!!!
> 
> -ro


	6. When She Talks, I Hear The Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The losers play their first paying gig and Bev makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! it's been a while. sorry 'bout that! 
> 
> i struggled with this chapter and i really hope u can't tell !! HA
> 
> thank you guys so much for your comments and kudos!
> 
> get ready for some reddie angst whoops.
> 
> let me know if u see any mistakes !
> 
> enjoy !

June 3, 1994

Ben wiped the sweat off of his forehead as he left the air-conditioning of the bar to go back to his truck. The losers were setting up their equipment for their first gig at The Standpipe, traveling back and forth from their cars parked in the alleyway to the stage.

It was finally the day of their gig at the bar in Bangor. The band had been practicing all day and night since summer vacation began. They’d be playing four 45 minute sets, with 15 minute breaks in between. They had to play at least 40 songs, which seemed like a lot to Ben, but it was as if the band lived for it. If their fingers weren’t bleeding and their legs weren’t aching by the time practice ended, they weren’t happy.

Ben had watched them practice enough to have all of their sets practically memorized, and knew when each of them would need what to be changed. He was able to pick up how to tune their instruments and test their electrical equipment on the fly, so he’d become like their honorary roadie. He wrote their set lists down and planned to tape them to the stage so they could remember what came next while they were playing. 

He had asked Bev to tell him what a concert was like so he knew what he needed to do, to which she happily obliged and promised she’d take him to a real one some day. Remembering it made him reflexively reach for the poem he’d been keeping in the pocket of his jeans.

He still hadn’t been able to pluck up the courage to give it to her, despite Bill’s encouraging smiles and pep talks. Eddie gave him knowing looks whenever Bev was talking to him, which didn’t help matters. He was pretty sure the whole band was starting to figure it out by now.

Ben used a dolly the venue had provided to stack the last couple of amps and wheel them back into the bar. Bev was at the microphone, tapping it and saying ‘testing, testing’. She beamed as the stage lights turned on, looking completely at home on stage. Her jeans were ripped at the knees and she had a flannel loosely buttoned over a sports bra. Ben felt like the wind was knocked out of him.

Eddie sat behind her at his drum set, adjusting the height and position of his drums. He shook his head and smiled when he saw Ben looking over at them.

Ben huffed out a sigh and surveyed the scene of the bar as he placed the amps on stage: A bartender stood behind the bar polishing some glasses, one lonely drunk sat at the counter, and another worker was wiping down tables with a rag. It was a dismal scene, but it was only 4:00. Ben was sure it would start to fill in by 6 or 7. Their set wasn’t until 8 anyways.

There was a loud commotion at the door as Stan walked in with his keyboard under his arm, Richie traipsing in behind him with a goofy grin on his face. Stan was rolling his eyes, which was not unusual for him. Ben had gotten to know Stan fairly well over the past few weeks, and he noticed the teenager was seemingly always exasperated by the others or making some biting and witty comment.

“Richie tried to skate in holding my keyboard.” Stan looked to Ben with a wry smile.

“I was just trying to help!” Richie laughed, running after his skateboard which had flown across the hardwood floor.

“Sure, okay. Tell me why your ‘help’ always results in someone getting bruised.” Stan placed his keyboard on it’s stand on stage and plugged it in to the wall.

Ben shook his head at the two and sat at a table near the stage that the losers had claimed as theirs. They’d wanted a place to rest during the breaks in between sets, so they draped their jackets, flannels, and bags over the chairs to ward off bar-goers from taking them.

He unzipped his backpack, fishing out their set lists buried among notebooks and extra extension cords and guitar strings—you never knew when you’d need them.

Their first set was made up of 10 songs, beginning strong with a Weezer song and ending with their original song, Losers. The next three sets were made up of more covers of alternative and rock songs handpicked by each of the losers. They hadn’t been able to write much with all of the practice they’d been doing over the past few weeks, but they were all eager to start filling their sets with original music.

Ben placed a few of the lists on the stage, in front of each of his friends, and proceeded to hand them water bottles he’d brought along. 

“Thanks, Ben!” Mike smiled as he put his guitar strap over his head.

“Yeah, you’re like our manager or something. Or our mom.” Richie snickered.

“He’s our roadie, asshole.” Eddie said as he tried to whack Richie with one of his drumsticks.

“Guys, c’mon.” Mike put his arms between the two.

“Alright, you l-losers ready for rehearsal?” Bill asked, taking his place behind his guitar.

 

Richie strummed the last guitar chord of the song in one strong downward motion, letting the sound reverberate through the amp. 

“Okay, g-good practice, guys. L-let’s t-t-take a break.” Bill told them, taking a swig from a water bottle. 

Mike and Stan hopped off of the stage, making their way over to the booth where Ben had sat through their rehearsal. Bill followed suit, carefully leaning his guitar against an amp. Bev jumped off and made her way to the bar’s restrooms, muttering something about how she hoped to god they were clean.

Eddie stood up from his drums to stretch, cracking his back and closing his eyes. Richie had to suppress a smile as he observed the smaller teen.

Because of the summer heat, Eddie had taken to wearing shorts most days. Richie took great notice of these shorts: the red pair, the striped ones, the denim cut-offs. He’d pair them with a t-shirt that was slightly too long for him and a pair of stark white tube socks or a navy blue fanny pack. 

Eddie had an odd sense of style, a bit like a dad or a toddler—the two were surprisingly similar. It turns out Richie wasn’t just into Eddie when he was dressed like a rock star. He liked his ridiculous and dorky self, fanny pack and all. Yeah, Richie was fucked.

Today, Eddie donned a borrowed Pink Floyd t-shirt loosely tucked into a pair of lavender shorts Richie had never seen him wear before. It was endearing to say the least.

“You nervous, Eds?” Richie asked, taking his guitar strap off of his shoulders. His own style today was colorful and mismatched. It was too hot out to wear a leather jacket or something equally cool-looking and rock star-ish, so Richie had opted for a bright Hawaiian shirt he’d found in the back of his closet and some mismatched socks that totally clashed under his worn converse sneakers.

Eddie’s brown eyes flew open and he looked at the guitarist, “Nervous for what?”

Richie’s eyebrows furrowed as he adjusted his glasses, , “The concert, dummy.”

“Shut up.” Eddie flushed, “Maybe a little bit.”

“I’ll hold your hand if it’ll help.” Richie offered, only half kidding.

“Don’t be an asshole.” Eddie murmured, surprisingly serious, and got up from his drum set and headed over to the others.

Richie groaned and mentally slapped himself. Eddie had been acting a little weird ever since their little “party” in the Barrens on the last day of school. He was scolding Richie, as normal, but he wasn’t fighting back. Richie was doing his best to be even more annoying that usual in the hopes that the drummer would bite back, but no such luck. He missed normal Eddie, who at times was the only one who could keep up with Richie.

Sitting down on stage, Richie cracked open a water bottle and took a sip. He wasn’t sure what exactly had put Eddie off—the fact that he was gay or that maybe he had overshared, gotten too personal. Richie had revealed some of his true self, and Eddie didn’t like it.

At the time, Eddie had seemed fully accepting, but now, it was like he was trying to give Richie space. This was something the messy haired boy definitely didn’t want. He wanted them closer, sharing everything and doing it all with their fingers interlocked.

On second thought, maybe it was good the Eddie was keeping some distance between the two. He could get over whatever his little crush on the little drummer boy was before he did something to mess everything up, like confess his feelings or—god forbid—kiss him. Richie had little to no impose control, a fact he’d come to terms with long ago. If they hadn’t both fallen asleep fairly quickly that night in the Barrens, Richie wasn’t sure what he would’ve said or done.

Richie’s stomach grumbled, making him realize he hadn’t eaten before Bill had picked him up on the way to the bar. He briefly wondered if the bar had any food while he sauntered over to the gang seated in a booth.

“Think I can scam some free food from the bartender?” He asked, addressing all of the losers and interrupting whatever conversation they’d been in.

“If you’re hungry, I can just buy some food.” Mike offered, taking a leather wallet out of his back pocket.

“Oh, no. Thanks, but don’t spend your money on me, man.” Richie shook his head and held his hand up.

“It’s almost six, you should all get some food before the show.” Ben said as he glanced down at his watch.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it, Rich. I’m getting hungry too.” Mike gave him an earnest smile, showing off his dimples, “I’ll pay for your food.”

“Oh, Mike, I’m swooning.” Richie fanned himself and looked away dramatically.

Bev walked up beside Richie, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Did someone say food?” 

 

Stan’s stomach was churning as the concert drew closer and closer. He could barely bring himself to eat, but relented upon Mike’s insistence. 

It turned out that the bar wasn’t stocked with food besides cherries and olives, so they ended up walking around the town a little bit. Richie led the way, cracking jokes all the while.

He’d managed to get a snicker out of Stan with “Bangor? I hardly know her!”, although he was actually laughing at how _bad_ of a joke it was. Truth be told, the tall mop-head could be pretty funny sometimes, it was just that Stan didn't ever want to let him know that. It’d go straight to that strange, curly head of his. Although Stan supposed his own curly head was just as strange, but in a different way.

Eventually, the losers happened upon a deli, and they decided to head in and scavenge for their dinner.

Bill turned to Stan as he scanned over the menu above the counter, “You can eat st-stuff here, r-right?”

Stan looked over at him, surprised, as he pointed to the top of the menu board “Yeah, it says its kosher.”

“G-good. Just making sure.” Bill gave him a lop-sided smile as he turned back to read the menu.

Stan watched as Bill’s blue eyes flitted over the words and pictures, feeling an unfamiliar swell in his chest. He cleared his throat and turned back to the menu, ignoring his sweaty palms.

They managed to all order without getting kicked out, although they came close when Richie almost knocked over a shelf, and ventured back to The Standpipe so they could sit and eat.

They took their place in the booth and proceeded to dig in to their dinner. Stan reflexively itched his tattoo as he glanced around the bar, noticing a few more people were sitting at the bar and milling about since they left. The adults looked to the group of teenagers curiously, but said nothing. King, the owner, sat behind the bar, looking as crotchety and stubborn as ever.

Stan took small bites of his food and tried to distract himself from his nerves by tuning into the losers’ conversation. He noticed that Eddie was acting rather quiet and withdrawn, despite Richie being even more obnoxious than usual today. It looked like maybe nerves were getting to everyone.

“You okay, Stan?” Mike asked quietly from beside him. The others were distracted by some ridiculous story Richie was reenacting with Bev.

Stan shrugged, “Maybe a little nervous.”

“Oh, man. Me too.” Mike said, “But, you know, just picture the audience—”

“In their underwear? Somehow I don’t think that’ll help.” Stan interrupted. He’d heard the saying a million times before, but trying to imagine a bunch of people in their underwear staring at him just made him more uncomfortable. 

“I was gonna say to picture them as sheep, actually.” Mike chuckled, “They’re surprisingly good listeners.”

Stan let out a loud laugh, causing the losers stop their conversation to look at him. Once the image of Mike singing and playing guitar on a stage in front of a crowd of sheep was in his head, he couldn’t get it out.

“You’re telling me…that you perform…in front of your sheep?” Stan asked between laughs.

A smile slowly spread on Bill’s face, “What?”

“Well…I…not really…” Mike muttered, seemingly embarrassed. That had definitely _not_ been Stan’s intention.

Stan immediately calmed down, “I think that’s really nice, Mike.”

Mike broke out into a grin, “Yeah, shut up. Maybe I’ve played a song or two for the sheep before. I wanted to imagine what it’d be like to have an audience!”

“That’s sweet.” Bev smiled as she patted the boy on the back. 

“And smart.” Ben nodded.

“That’s like saying its smart to practice kissing on your hand. It’s not. They’re both completely different from the real thing!” Richie exclaimed.

“Like you’d know.” Stan quipped.

Bill laughed, “S-seems like you know a lot about what k-kissing your hand is like, Rich.”

“Shut it, Big Bill,” Richie huffed, “And yeah, I _would_ know, Stanley. I get plenty of action from Mrs. K. Isn’t that right, Eds?”

“Please don’t bring me into this, Richie.” Eddie finally relented and spoke up.

“Still not g-giving up on that bit, huh?” Bill asked, smiling at his best friend.

“It’s a solid joke, sexual orientation aside.” Richie crossed his arms defensively.

They were all saved from whatever lewd joke Richie would’ve made next as a worker approached their table, “Just wanted to let you guys know, you’re on in 30.” 

Stan choked on the water he’d just taken a sip of, “30 _minutes_?”

The bartender gave him a funny look,“That’s right.”

“Ok, no problem. Thanks.” Mike smiled as he gave Stan a hard pat on the back.

“You’ll get paid after the gig, just come and see me at the bar,” The worker smiled smugly, “Oh, and King says good luck.”

 

Bill slung his guitar strap over his shoulder and stood to face the crowd. Most of the audience weren’t paying the band much attention, just drinking and talking to their friends. The sound of glass clinking together, shuffling feet, and murmurs from passing conversations filled the air.

Bill squinted at the lights glaring down at them from the rafters as he stepped up to one of the microphones, “H-hey, everyb-body. W-w-we’re uh…”

The microphone screeched, and their was a pregnant pause as Bill was struck with a loss for words. Someone in the audience coughed, leading to a chain reaction of people clearing their throats or awkwardly laughing under their breath.

“We’re The Losers Club! Get ready to fuckin’ rock.” Bev shouted as she looked over to Bill with a grin. 

Bill nodded and smiled in return as he eased back into his position far from the microphones. He preferred to just play his guitar, and not be in the spotlight, but he felt like the leader of the band, which made him feel compelled to speak.

He heard Eddie count them down from behind him as they launched into the song they’d practiced a million times before. Bill settled into his guitar playing, seemingly forgetting about the audience.

He stood back to back with Mike as they shredded through their first song. Richie and Beverly controlled the microphone for the most part, belting out lines and lyrics like total rock stars. 

Bill glanced behind them to see Stan playing the keyboard, grinning wider than Bill had ever seen him. He looked up from the keys to look at Bill, the smile now reaching his eyes. The lights from above hit Stan’s curly hair and created an almost angelic glow around him.

Their next song was slower, and it allowed Bill to get another look at the audience. Most people were watching the losers, looking a bit intrigued, but some still carried on with their conversations. Bill didn’t really mind though, if anything, he felt relieved.

The band was still working out the kinks, and while they were a lot better than when they first started, they definitely still had work to do. The most important thing was that they kept pushing on, even when one of them forgot the lyrics or lost the tempo.

Mike sung the next song, taking over the place at the microphone and letting his guitar hang from his shoulders. He clasped the microphone between his hands and crooned, eyes closed and smiling.

Richie and Bev fell back, letting Mike have his moment in the spotlight. They thrashed their heads around together and played, feeding off of each other’s energy.

Their first set went on, going smoother than Bill thought it would. It flew by quickly, the whole band soaking up the encouraging applause that happened between their songs. Bill’s heart was racing as they were building up to the end of the set.

Eddie smashed the drums as the finale of the song, causing everyone else to follow suit. There were shouts and whistles from the audience as they extended the song a little bit with their own riffs. 

Mike took the microphone, “Thank you so much for listening, we’re gonna take a break, but we’ll be back!” 

The lights of the bar went back on and the stage lights flipped off as the losers filed off stage. They were all panting and sweaty, but happier than they’d ever been. They practically fell into their booth where Ben was seated.

“That was so awesome!” Ben exclaimed, making room for them to sit and spread out.

“Water? Do we…have…water? I need…some…water.” Bev replied between pants.

A group of people approached their table, all probably in their late 20s.

“Hey, just wanted to say, you guys were awesome! Totally reminded me of the band I was in when I was in college.” One of the guys said.

“We bought you guys a round of beer, you totally made our night!” A woman said as she set down a tray of pint glasses.

“Uhh w-we’re not—” Bill started before Richie elbowed him in the gut.

“Bill was going to say we couldn’t possibly accept that, but I’m not Bill! Thanks!” Richie slid the tray closer to himself.

“No problem! Do you guys go to the University of Maine?” She asked. 

“Yeah, we met at freshman orientation and we’ve been playing together since.” Bev lied seamlessly. Bill shared a concern with Ben, Bev was scary good at lying.

“Sweet, my sister goes there! I’ll have to ask her if she’s heard of you guys.” The woman replied, nodding.

“Well, we don’t wanna take up your whole break, but we just wanted to come over and say hi. Good luck on your next set!”

“Thank you!” Bev grinned, the rest of the band sending a chorus of ‘thank you’s’ after them as the group retreated back to their table.

“Huh…” Bill’s brow furrowed, “I don’t know w-what I was expecting, but it was n-not that.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie looked at them incredulously, “Do they seriously think we’re 21? And in college?”

“Eddie, my dear, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Richie replied, taking a large gulp of the amber drink.

“Richie! What if they put roofies in there?” Eddie gave Richie a look like he was about to knock his lights out.

“You really think they would try and drug all of us?” Richie asked, “And why would they want to, anyways? What could they gain from that?”

“Well, I don’t know. But shit, you just don’t think before you act.” Eddie mumbled, crossing his arms.

Richie started to open his mouth to retort, but Mike beat him to it.

“So Stan, you’re not still nervous, are you?” Mike changed the subject, always the peace keeper of the group.

Stan smiled sheepishly, “Not really. It went pretty well. It’s just…I’m not really me unless I worry about every single thing incessantly.

“Well, I figured it couldn’t go worse than our first concert, so I wasn’t too worried.” Mike replied with a smile.

“Oh y-yeah, fuck, Henry B-Bowers.” Bill suddenly remembered that night that had ended in a bloody nose for Ben and cutting their set early.

“Correction: Fuck Henry Bowers.” Stan put a hand on Ben’s shoulder.

All of the losers, albeit Eddie a little reluctantly, raised their glasses together as they said cheers, “Fuck Henry Bowers.”

“Don’t forget, the night’s not over. Something could still go wrong.” Stan muttered after they’d all taken sips.

“Stan…” Bill shook his head as he looked to his friend, placing an arm around the keyboardist’s shoulders.

 

The band returned to the stage, the lights lowered once more and a spotlight on stage. Mike was warm from the beer he’d had, but it definitely wasn’t enough to make him tipsy at all. Just relaxed.

The first song for their second set was Bev’s; She chose it and made the losers listen to it—resulting in a band practice full of lessons about feminism and the riot grrrl genre of music.

She stood at the front of the stage, playing bass and singing her heart out.

_That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood_

_She's got the hottest trike in town_

_That girl she holds her head up so high_

_I think I want to be her best friend, yeah_

Someone whistled from the audience as Bev started the chorus.

_Rebel girl rebel girl_

_Rebel girl you are the queen of my world_

_Rebel girl rebel girl_

_I think I want to take you home_

_I want to try on your clothes_

Bev’s voice was softer than the lead singer of Bikini Kill’s but just as raspy. 

_When she talks, I hear the revolution_

_In her hips, there's revolutions_

_When she walks, the revolution's coming_

_In her kiss, I taste the revolution!_

Mike had never met someone as open about sexuality as Bev. He felt so sheltered compared to her. His homeschool studies hadn’t exactly covered that topic.

Although, he wasn’t oblivious to it, he’d read almost every book in the library. He knew _some_ things, but it was a small town, after all.

Looking to his right, he saw Bill playing guitar, staring and smiling out into the audience. Stan was behind him at the keyboard, shoulders relaxed as he concentrated on the keys. It seemed like they’d loosened up a bit too.

Mike felt relieved at that; he wished the two of them realized how talented they were. Or at the very least, Mike wished they knew how talented _he_ thought they were. He knew the both of them worried things to death, Stan more so than Bill, but Mike didn’t exactly know how to talk to them about it.

He’d never been good at opening up about his feelings, maybe thats why he admires Bev so much.

The song ended and the audience erupted in hoots and hollers. Bev looked back at him and shrugged, looking a little bewildered. 

They rocketed into their next song, fast paced and chaotic; a song chosen by Richie.

The whole band had taken turns choosing what songs to play for the performance, and they’d arranged them in a way that each set started off fast, flowed into a slower song in the middle, and ended fast again.

They tried to make all of the songs in their own sort of style, which they were still trying to figure out.

The next song was a callback to the 80s, a grunge/rock style cover of Melt With You by Modern English. Eddie had chosen it, but the whole band agreed it might be good to do an older song. They weren’t sure who would be in their audience, and what their ages would be.

It turned out to be a good decision, as it got a lot of people in the audience singing with them. Eddie beamed from his drum set as Richie sung out to the audience and bounced around to the music.

Their next song was their slowest one, and it was a love song chosen by Ben. They all teased Ben for being a sap, but quickly shut up once he played them the song. 

“This is for all the lovers out there.” Bev said, smiling and grasping the mic.

Mike could see Ben watching Beverly with wide eyes as she started singing the song by Mazzy Star. A few couples from the audience got up and began to sway together to the soft, hazy music.

“Thank you.” Bev nodded to the couples as the song ended, “We’re gonna kick it up a notch now, but feel free to keep on dancing.”

They threw themselves into their next song, picking up speed and energy. Mike played his guitar and watched as Stan’s fingers flew over the black and white keys. Richie was practically yelling the song at the audience as Bev chimed in as a backup singer. 

Mike could feel his t-shirt getting drenched in sweat, but couldn’t bring himself to care. He was sure he smelled and looked terrible, but in the moment, he felt better than ever.

They finished their second set without a hitch, and Mike was ready to go into the next one without a break. He felt an adrenaline rush as he thanked the audience and told them they’d be back for two more sets after a short break. 

The audience applauded them, and Mike had a sudden moment of clarity. He knew that this is what he was meant to do, and looking around at his bandmates, this is who he was supposed to do it with.

 

Eddie knocked his drumsticks together over his head to get the first song of their fourth and final set started. The rest of the band followed suit as he hit the drums to the beat.

Richie was at the microphone this time, belting out lyrics with his usual reckless abandon.

_Woo-hoo but ya know I'm yours,_

_Woo-hoo and I know your mine._

_Woo-hoo and that's for all of time_

_Woo-ee-ooh, I look just like Buddy Holly,_

_Oh-oh, and you're Mary Tyler Moore._

_I don't care what they say about us anyway._

_I don't care about that._

Eddie felt a little bitter that Richie could so carelessly sing about love, but then again, Richie had no idea about Eddie’s feelings. He didn’t know that he’d gotten scared that night they laid together and looked at the stars. He didn’t know his feelings were escalating and turning into something Eddie would actually have to deal with.

He had no idea.

Although, he must’ve known something was wrong. Eddie was trying his best to keep his distance from Richie, trying to dampen his feelings. He was barely arguing with him anymore, opting instead to keep quiet whenever Richie made a dumb comment. It was one of the hardest things he’s ever done.

Richie had told the losers he was gay, which made the fact that Eddie liked Richie all too real. He didn’t know what to do with that information. He didn’t feel like he could act on his feelings, as he was sure Richie didn’t return them. Eddie was pretty sure Richie saw him as an adorable little kid to tease and argue with.

Which simultaneously conflicted with the view that Richie saw Eddie as boring and safe, like an old man.

It was safe to say Eddie was very confused.

Which was just one more reason he was keeping Richie at arms length. He needed to figure some shit out.

Eddie definitely took out his frustrations on the drums, sweat flying off of his forehead and dripping down his nose. He’d be grossed out if he wasn’t so into the music.

The set was a whirlwind of head-banging band members and sweat. They went through it quickly, but Eddie could tell the losers were starting to grow tired.

Eddie hardly remembered their last few songs, by that point, he was moving through them in autopilot. It was a blur, and he didn’t realize they were even on their last song until Richie announced it to the audience. 

“Thanks for sticking around and listening. I’m Richie, those two on the other guitars are Bill and Mike, our lovely bass player is Bev, we’ve got Stan the Man on the keyboard,” Richie pointed out everyone as he spoke, “And that little cutie on the drums in Eddie. And again, we’re The Losers Club! Hope you enjoyed.”

A fire burned in Eddie’s belly as he played them into their last song. He zeroed in on Richie’s back as they played, feeling the callouses on his fingers start to bleed. Richie really didn’t think about other people’s feelings, he only cared about himself. What made Eddie even angrier, was that he was more upset with himself for still being attracted to the guy.

They finished the song and the lights in the bar came back on. Ben came over to the stage to help take apart their set and load it into their cars. 

A few people from the audience came up to the stage to talk, to which Bev, Richie, Bill, and Mike happily obliged. Eddie could tell they were all worn out, but they still talked with the same amount of enthusiasm as if they weren’t. 

Eddie began deconstructing his drum set with a sour look on his face. He was right, his fingers _had_ started to bleed. They hadn’t done that since he first started playing the drums. 

He cursed under his breath as Ben helped him load his drums onto a dolly, and they wheeled it out to his truck.

“You okay there, Eddie?” Ben asked, using a ramp to put the instrument in the truck bed.

“Yeah, just some blisters on my hands.” Eddie shook his head, “I’ll be fine.”

The two headed back inside where the others were unloading amps and instruments from the stage and heading outside. Bill walked over to them with a white envelope.

“G-got our money. Can you believe we just g-got paid for playing m-music?” Bill asked, astonished. He put the envelope in his back pocket and left with his guitar to go out the side door to the alley.

Ben was peeling the set lists off the stage as Eddie looked around. All that was left was Bev’s bass and amp.

“Want some help with that?” Eddie offered when Bev came back inside.

“No, I’ve got it. You two can head out to the cars, I think the boys are busy counting the money.” Bev laughed as she leaned over her amp, unplugging it.

Eddie followed Ben back into the side alley, where the others _were_ actually counting the money. Although it was more like they were staring at it in awe.

“We’re trying to figure out how much each of us should get if we split it 7 ways.” Mike said as they approached.

Richie’s eyes glommed onto Eddie as soon as he noticed he was outside.

“Are you bleeding?” Richie asked, nodding towards his hands.

“It’s just blisters from playing.” Eddie shrugged and folded his hands.

“Holy shit,” Richie watched as blood oozed through his fingers, “Let me see.”

Richie made a move to grab Eddie’s hands, to which he automatically recoiled.

“Do not _fucking_ touch me.” Eddie muttered as a warning.

“Oh, come on Eds.” Richie rolled his eyes, “Let me kiss the boo-boo and make it better.”

“Grow the fuck up, Richie!” Eddie spit out, “I’m not a baby and I’m not yours to mess with.”

Eddie immediately regretted saying it once he saw the hurt look on Richie’s face, but he couldn’t take it back, not even when it was only half true.

Richie stared back at Eddie, his dark brown eyes heavy. His hair was wild and matted with sweat, and his mouth was pressed into a firm line.

He’d finally been rendered speechless.

 

Bev was unplugging her bass from the amp when she saw someone approaching out of the corner of her eye. She glanced up to see an attractive girl around her age staring at her through charcoal lined eyes. Her features were pointed and narrow, like a fox, and her face was framed with choppy, dark blue hair. She reminded Bev of someone she’d see in a magazine for being in some all girl punk band.

“Hey, I’m Kay McCall.” The girl stuck out her hand, “I write for a local feminist zine, _Rebel Grrrl Manifesto_. I’d love to interview you for a page. We’re always looking for local women in music to write about.”

Bev leaned down and shook her hand, “I’m Bev,”

“Here’s our last issue.” Kay handed a magazine over to Bev, “We publish art by women for women. Our articles talk about women musicians, intersectional feminism, racial discrimination in music, women’s and LGBT rights, you get the picture.”

Bev hopped down from the stage and flipped through the pages, which were decorated with drawings and explosions of loud colors and bold text. She turned to the next page, which displayed a short article and a glossy photograph of a familiar face screaming into a microphone.

Bev’s eyes widened, “Holy shit! You interviewed Kathleen Hanna?”

Kay laughed, “I knew you’d like that. You’re cover of Rebel Girl _killed_ me. You could be in here too, Bev. You and your band are really talented.”

Bev looked up to meet Kay’s dark eyes, watching for any sign of malice or deceit, “You think so?”

Kay grinned, showing off her dimples that reminded Bev of Mike, immediately putting her at ease, “Hell yeah! Actually, do you guys have a demo or anything?” 

The red-head felt her heart sink as she handed the zine back to Kay, “No, we haven’t recorded anything. We don’t have the equipment.”

“I could probably hook you up with a producer if you’re interested.” Kay offered as she stuck the zine back into her purse. 

“We definitely would be, but I don’t think we could afford it.” Bev shrugged sheepishly. 

“I know a guy, he’s all the way out in Los Angeles, but he makes it a hobby to take risks on amateur bands. He’s always looking for fresh faces and new sounds.” Kay smiled, “I’m sure he’d love to help you guys out with a studio recording or something. Maybe get a manager, book a tour opening for some band, hopefully make it big. A lot of bands do it that way.”

Bev was sure her eyes were bugging out of her head, “No shit! That’d be fucking amazing! He’d help us just like that?”

“Well, you _might_ need to send him a recording of your stuff. Nothing fancy, just record something original on a cassette tape so he gets the idea and feel for your band. I can mail it out to him, see what he says.” The journalist explained.

“Holy shit!” Bev exclaimed, “Hold on, let me get the guys.”

Bev quickly ran outside where the boys were, leaving the blue-haired punk waiting. They were all standing around in silence, looking between Eddie and Richie awkwardly. She ignored it for the moment, they had a more pressing matter to attend to.

Bill cleared his throat, “Bev, wh-where’s your bass?”

“You guys need to meet someone, come on.” Bev demanded as she ushered them back into the bar.

“What’s going on? Stan asked as he hesitantly left his seat on the hood of Bill’s car.

“Just come on, Stanley!” Bev waved him over urgently, “No time for questions.”

The losers followed Bev over to Kay, who was standing right where she left her. 

“Who’s this?” Mike asked, and Bev let out a relieved sigh; she’d been worried that the girl had been a figment of her imagination.

Bev turned to the girl, “This is Kay. She’s gonna help us.”

“Help us do what?” Eddie asked. All eyes looked to Kay curiously.

She smirked, “Are you guys fuckin' ready for your future?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! 
> 
> is the way i wrote the concert ok? bc like I didn't want to bore you with all of the details of every single song they play idk I'd love some feedback !
> 
> in future chapters I'm gonna have them write their own songs and I'm trying to figure out if I should use lyrics from songs that already exist that I think the losers sound like or if I should just describe the songs bc I am def not a song writer heh. any suggestions ?
> 
> songs used in this chapter: Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill for the title and Bev's song, Buddy Holly by Weezer for the lyrics Richie sings at some point in there.
> 
> btw im rowsbud on spotify and tumblr if u wanna check me out there ! i have a 90s playlist on spotify of songs im using in this fic and other cool ones and my tumblr isn't a fandom tumblr but you can still talk to me about the fic or about It or stranger things or whatever on there !! don't b shy


	7. Maybe You're The Same As Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Ben bond, Bev and Eddie explore the wonders of hair dye, and Stan makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey ! this took a long time to write wow. 
> 
> not a lot of "band" stuff happens this chapter, but a lot of bonding does ! sooo i hope u like that? i guess lol
> 
> thanks for all the kudos and comments on the last chapters! 
> 
> hope u enjoy !

June 6, 1994

The lobby of the ER was bustling with people coming and going, all with varying degrees of wounds and sicknesses. It smelled like antiseptic and metal, and Richie could hardly stand it. There was a mother holding a screaming baby to his right, and a man who looked like he got jumped bleeding all over to his left. Richie figured he’d be used to it by now, considering how many trips to the ER he’d needed in the past, but no such luck. 

It had been a few days since the concert at The Standpipe, where they’d performed together and gotten paid for it, like a real band, and where they met Kay, a girl who promised to help them with their future as a band. More importantly, it had been a few days since Eddie yelled at him, and out of all the things that had happened, Richie’s brain couldn’t stop thinking about _that_.

Despite the offers from Bill to come over that weekend, Richie had spent it alone, skateboarding around town and playing his guitar in his bedroom. He was trying to give Eddie space, and trying to come up with a plan to make the drummer not so mad at him anymore. So far, he hadn’t been successful. 

Richie _knew_ Eddie wasn’t a baby, obviously. And of course, he wasn’t “his to mess with”, as much as Richie wished Eddie _was_ his. Richie wasn’t an idiot, although, he supposed, that was debatable. 

A nurse passed by, clipboard under her arm, “Is someone coming to get you, Richard?”

Richie cringed at the use of his full name, although he let it slide this time because it was Rita. He’d known her since he was about four, when he realized that getting hurt got himself attention. The habit had stuck, even though he knew now that he shouldn’t have to be hospitalized to get his parents to look at him. 

Rita was a hard-ass, but she had a soft spot for the loudmouth. She’d snuck him into the break room and allowed him to use the hospital’s phone to call someone. She wouldn’t let him leave without someone, as she so lovingly yelled at him that it was standard procedure when a patient came in with a head injury. Rita reminded him a little of Eddie in that way, only older. And not as cute.

“Yeah, I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.” Richie teased. 

“Good.” She walked back to the nurses’ desk, mouth alluding to a smile. 

Richie practically jumped out of the lobby chair when he saw his friend walk through the door, “Thanks for coming. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“No problem, Richie,” Ben looked at him with concern, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just needed a few stitches,” Richie shrugged, “It’s stupid, I fell off of my skateboard.”

“Did you get a concussion?” Ben asked, nodding at his forehead where a deep purple bump had formed.

Richie nodded, “I wouldn’t’ve even come here, but I wiped out in front of someone’s house and passed out. They saw me and called for an ambulance.”

“Are you kidding? Concussions are serious, Richie.” Ben

“You’re starting to sound like Eddie.” Richie muttered, feeling embarrassed.

“Yeah, I sound like a concerned friend, Richie.” Ben crossed his arms, “Now, come on.”

Richie followed Ben out to his truck, skateboard under one arm. He hopped in the passenger seat and Ben started the engine, both of them silent.

Richie took to messing with the radio dials as Ben pulled the truck out of the hospital parking lot.

“Oh shit,” Richie laughed as he found a station playing “Weird Science”. He turned it up and sung along as the sound of 80s synthesizers filled the car.

“You like Oingo Boingo?” Ben grinned, “Thought you were a music snob.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut it.” Richie rolled his eyes light heartedly, “You can’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

“What reputation?” Ben laughed, “I think we all know you’re a giant nerd.”

“Benjamin! Not so loud.” Richie scolded.

“Alright, but next time you make fun of me for liking New Kids on the Block, I’m gonna remind you of this moment.” Ben teased. 

The truck sputtered as it reached the stop sign just before the road Richie lived on, and his heart sank. But instead of turning down the street, Ben kept driving.

Richie almost hated to say it, but he did anyway, “Hey, you uh, you just passed my street.”

“Oh. I thought maybe we could hang out at my house,” Ben replied as he trained his eyes on the road,“But I can take you to yours if you want.”

“No! No, no. I’d love to hang out.” Richie shook his head.

“Good,” Ben smiled sheepishly, “I kinda need your help with something.”

 

Bill, Stan, and Mike met in the Barrens that afternoon, each needing a bit of a break from the other losers. The drama between Eddie and Richie was occupying all of their time lately, and it made Bill feel like he was a child caught in the crossfire of a parents’ divorce. Mike grew tired of constantly trying to keep the peace between them, and Stan was just exhausted by their ridiculousness. 

Richie was avoiding all of the losers completely, and Bill didn’t know what to do. He could only hope Eddie and Richie patched things up soon. Bill felt like they were just getting good at the band thing, they couldn’t break up before they’d even really begun. 

Bill strummed the strings of his acoustic guitar as the stereo quietly played an old rock song. Stan was sat to his left, silently watching the sky with a pair of binoculars, and Mike was in front of them, back against a rock, writing in a worn composition notebook.

All three of them had quickly fallen into doing their own thing, in a comfortable silence, among the chirping birds, babbles from the stream, and the brash voice of Joey Ramone. It was easy, uncomplicated—just the three of them.

Bill laid his guitar down beside him and looked to the boy in front of him, “Wh-what’s that, Mike?”

“Oh, uh…” Mike scratched the back of his neck, “I started writing about the band. Recording all of the stuff we’re doing. I thought it’d be cool to have, even if we never get big.”

“Sort of like a journal?” Stan asked as he let his binoculars hang around his neck.

“Pretty much,” Mike placed his pencil behind his ear, “I wish I had a camera though. I think some photos would make it better.”

“I think my d-dad has a camera somewhere. He never uses it anymore, so I’m s-s-sure he wouldn’t mind.” Bill shrugged.

“You’re like our historian, huh?” Stan leaned back and propped himself up with his hands. Bill was painfully aware of how close his and Stan’s hands were.

“Historian…” Mike pondered the word, “I like that! Sure, I’m the band’s historian.”

“Can you read out some of it?” Stan looked at him curiously.

“What?” Mike asked.

“Some of your entries.” Stan explained, his arm grazing Bill’s. 

“Oh,” Mike smiled sheepishly, “I guess. But don’t judge it too harshly, I just sort of write whatever on the spot. I haven’t gone back and read through any of it yet.”

“I’m s-sure it’s great, Mike.” Bill managed to cough out.

“Alright, alright,” Mike flipped through the pages of the notebook, “Here, I’ll go back read the first entry.”

Mike cleared his throat, “April 29th, 1994…”

Details from the losers’ first meetings flowed out, and Bill was filled with a sense of nostalgia. He’d almost forgotten that the first time he and Mike met was in an alleyway face to face with Henry Bowers.

It was written like a diary, from Mike’s point of view, but he added in bits and pieces of the day from what the others had told him.

Bill’s mind ran wild with the endless possibilities of how that day could’ve turned out. If Bill _hadn’t_ decided to drive through town on the way home, if Mike had taken a different road to the music store, if Stan hadn’t been playing piano after school that day— it felt like kismet, that somehow they’d all found each other. 

He remembered back to one of the first conversations he’d had with Mike in his car after the band’s first ‘practice’. They’d both described to each other how it felt like it was meant to be. Maybe it was a bit silly, and if Stan was there he would’ve rolled his eyes, but Bill found comfort in it.

Mike soon closed the book, finally glancing up to the other teens. 

“You guys are both saps, you know that?” Stan laughed and shook his head, “Meant to be…”

“That wuh-was really cool, Mike.” Bill gave him a lopsided smile, ignoring the chuckling teen to his left.

“Thanks, man.” Mike smiled, causing a flurry in Bill’s chest. Maybe he really _was_ a sap. 

“Now, how about some Oasis?” Mike went over to the stereo, turned off the radio, and put the CD in.

“You two and your Oasis.” Stan rolled his eyes, but his voice held no malice. 

“Yep,” Mike replied as he skipped a couple songs into the album, “Us and Oasis.”

_Maybe I don't really wanna know_

_How your garden grows cos I just want to fly_

_Lately, did you ever feel the pain?_

_In the morning rain as it soaks you to the bone_

Mike sang along quietly as he sat back down, burying his face in his notebook once again. Stan hummed and looked at him fondly. 

_Maybe I just want to fly I want to live I don't want to die_

_Maybe I just want to breathe maybe I just don't believe_

_Maybe you're the same as me we see things they'll never see_

_You and I we’re gonna live forever_

Bill was about to pick his guitar back up to try and strum along when he felt something brush the side of his hand. He glanced down to see Stan’s hand threatening to interlock with his. 

He looked at Stan with wide eyes, who was squinting up at the sky with a content look on his face. 

Bill’s eyes darted over to Mike who was busy writing in his book, seemingly oblivious to what was happening in front of him.

Bill traced a question mark on Stan’s hand, giving him a questioning look. Stan finally looked over, and drew a question mark right back.

Bill’s eyes flickered over to Mike again, then back to Stan. Stan nodded and looked over to Mike and back to Bill.

It was safe to say Bill was a little lost. 

 

That afternoon happened to be one of the rare occasions when Eddie’s mom would leave the house. Usually, she sent Eddie off to run her errands for her, but today, she’d said he looked a little flushed and felt feverish, and coerced him back into bed. She’d left the house after she delivered him a bowl of tomato soup and he promised to stay under the covers, where he was safe.

Eddie hated tomato soup, and he didn’t feel sick at all, but, for once, he was grateful she thought he looked it. Eddie savored his moments alone in the house; it gave him the opportunity to do what he liked without criticism or worried scolding. His mother would be gone for a few hours, presumably, and he rejoiced as he poured the soup down his bathroom sink.

He turned the radio up as he danced through the halls in his socks and matching pajama set. The harsh sound of the telephone ringing brought him to a halt, and he groaned as he ambled over to it. He wouldn’t have any fun if his mom was going to be calling and checking on him every ten minutes.

“Hi mama,” Eddie greeted sweetly as he picked up the phone out of its holder on the wall.

“Eddie?” A baffled female voice crackled out of the receiver.

Eddie sighed with relief, “Hey, Bev.”

“Um, yeah hi,” Bev replied, “Listen, do you want to come over?”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed, “What? Why?”

“Well…everyone else is busy. _Plus_ , we’ve never hung out just the two of us.” Bev explained.

Twisting the telephone cord around his finger, he asked, “Have you hung out with all of the other guys one on one before?”

Bev paused for a moment, “Yeah, actually.”

“Oh.” Eddie frowned.

“So, what do you say?” Bev asked, “I’m dying my hair and I could use some help.”

Eddie weighed his options. He could stay home and pretend he was rebelling by blasting 80s music at top volume and dancing around the house, _or_ he could _actually_ rebel and go help a friend at the same time.

“Alright, sure. I’ll be over in ten.”

He figured he could probably make it home before his mom came back anyway. She tended to overcomplicate everything, so the errands that usually took him an hour and a half would most likely take her twice that.

Bev let out a laugh, “Are you listening to _Its Raining Men_?” 

Eddie’s cheeks flushed as he remembered the song that was playing from the radio. 

“Bye, Bev.” Eddie could hear her giggling.

“That’s cute! I—” She was cut off as Eddie slammed the landline back into the wall.

Eddie soon found himself sitting on the edge of Bev’s bathtub, watching as she coated strands of her hair with red dye. The boom box in her bedroom was on, and the sound of an angry female voice backed by harsh guitars and drums trickled into the bathroom.

“Isn’t it a little redundant to dye your hair red? It sort of already is…ya know…red.” Eddie said.

Bev handed the box of dye to Eddie, “This is gonna be a deep red, see? It’ll be darker, more punk.”

“You and Richie are so obsessed with that word.” Eddie muttered as he studied the box, noticing Bev had forgone the flimsy gloves it provided.

“What, ‘punk’?” Bev looked over to him, “Yeah, I guess it’s an important concept to both of us. It’s our way out of this town, out of the dull and depressing lives we’d lead if we stayed here. I think it’s also our way of dedicating ourselves to the music. We both really want the band to work out.”

“Well so do I!” Eddie defended, “I just don’t exactly fit the rock and roll image.”

Bev looked at him like she was formulating a plan, “Would you like to?”

“What?” Eddie looked up.

“I mean, I could help you if you’d like to look like a punk. I just always assumed you didn’t want to change.” Bev shrugged.

“I want the band to work as much as you do. If changing my look a little bit will help, I’ll do it.” Eddie crossed his arms, “But I’m not letting you pierce anything.”

Bev chuckled, “Do you want me to dye your hair?”

“How?” Eddie asked, “Isn’t my hair too dark?”

“We could bleach some streaks with peroxide, then dye it with leftover red.” Bev rubbed her hands as she grinned, “Ooh, that’d be so cool.”

Eddie sighed and, before he could change his mind, said, “Alright. Let’s do it.” 

 

Stan knew exactly what he was doing. He needed to, really. Especially with Mike and Bill, their heads in the clouds. Although if Stan was being totally honest, he had a bit of a control problem. 

He just wasn’t a laid-back ‘go with the flow’ sort of person. Stan liked everything in order and organized, which is exactly why he made a plan. He supposed it wasn’t the most romantic thing, to make a structured and strict plan, but the other two obviously weren’t going to do anything about it.

Stan saw it just as it was: he liked Bill and Mike, Mike and Bill liked each other, and they both liked Stan. 

There had been hints from the beginning—the glances, the casual touching, the little smiles reserved only for each other. At first, Stan thought he had no chance, Bill and Mike seemed practically attached at the hip, talking about their music and sharing inside jokes, but lately, they’d been including Stan too. They even laughed at his jokes sometimes, which was completely alien to Stan—he knew he had a bit of a weird sense of humor.

As cliché as it was, Stan had been carrying around a crush on Bill since elementary school. He had a vague memory of a ten year old Bill walking with him to the nurse after Stan got hit in the face with a dodgeball in gym class. Bill waited with him while the nurse looked him over and then walked back with him. Ten year old Stan thought his hair was such a pretty auburn (although so did 18 year old Stan), that it was the final nail in the coffin.

Now, Mike was a different story. When Stan happened upon Mike playing that song by The Smiths in Bill’s garage, he knew it was over for him. He’d gotten to know Mike pretty well over the past few weeks, enough to know that he was a total geek for history and literature. It was pretty endearing. He was also one of the kindest people Stan had ever met, which of course added to the endless list of things about Mike Hanlon that made Stan’s heart flutter.

The two dreamers kept Stan grounded, as strange as it may sound. Before they’d met, Stan began to theorize the he might be a robot, like C-3PO, but Bill and Mike made him realize he actually _did_ have feelings.

Stan had never heard of three people being in a relationship, but then again, it was a small town. The only time he heard of polyamory was when it got mentioned in passing conversations about cults or certain religions usually followed by looks of disgust. But the same could be said about homosexuality, so, Stan figured he might as well go all in.

That afternoon, he’d decided to finally put his plan into action.

Mike was wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and to be completely honest, it was driving Stan a little crazy. Not to mention Bill, sat to his left, hair shining bright in the summer sun, strumming a guitar. If Stan didn’t know better, he’d think he was dreaming.

Stan planned to slowly and subtly introduce it. He was a nervous wreck, but he needed to do _something_.

Unfortunately, Bill was a little more clueless than he thought. 

Bill’s blue eyes were squinting at him, questioning and curious. Stan, deciding to be more direct, interlocked their fingers and hoped he’d understand. Or at least, not freak out.

Which, of course, is exactly what happened.

“U-uh, uhm, uhhh,” Bill stood quickly, detaching his hand from Stan’s, “I c-c-completely forgot I, uh, I gotta…watch Guh-Georgie.”

Stan rolled his eyes, “Bill, wait—”

“Bye, Mike. S-Stan.” Bill ran back through the woods, leaving his guitar behind.

“Shit. For someone so smart, he’s really pretty dumb.” Stan smacked a hand to his forehead.

“What…just happened?” Mike asked, clearly still trying to process everything.

Stan huffed, “I tried being subtle.”

 

Bev watched as red swirled down the drain. She had washed her and Eddie’s hair in the sink in an effort to keep the dye splatter minimal, but it had still managed to get all over the bathroom. Thanks to some bleach and hard scrubbing, they soaked up all of the dye with old washcloths, leaving the bathroom cleaner than before.

She had made pile of stained clothes, along with the towels they’d used in the corner of her room. Bev would take them to the laundromat later if she managed to scrounge up enough change from couch cushions and pants pockets.

Eddie sat on her bed with a towel around his head while his hair dried. Bev had lent him an old Fleetwood Mac t-shirt, which was fading and peeling with age, so they didn’t get dye on his clothes. He was looking pointedly at the sewing machine that sat in the corner of her room.

“You sew?” Eddie made his way over to the machine, picking up a few scrap fabric pieces she had laying around.

“Yeah, my aunt sent the machine to me last Christmas. It started with just sewing patches on my jackets or covering up holes in my clothes, but I actually really like making clothes.”

“Wait—The Losers Club?” Eddie asked as he picked up a t-shirt, “What’s this?”

“I was experimenting with some t-shirts and designs and stuff. I wanted to make some merch for the band.” Bev shrugged, “I don’t know if anybody would wanna buy it now, but maybe they would eventually.”

“Hey, that’s my scar!” Eddie exclaimed as he pulled out another shirt. It had a patch on the front that read LOSER, but the S was partly covered with a V. 

Bev smiled and nodded, “And all of our tattoos. I figured could be one of our symbols. Or logos. I don’t know.”

“That’s really cool.” Eddie grinned at her.

Bev would admit, her initial reasoning for getting Eddie to her house was so she could talk to him about Richie. However, now, she felt they’d really bonded, and she didn’t want to ruin it by mentioning the trashmouth. _However_ , Bev wanted to help her friend, no matter how mad he’d get if he knew she was trying to meddle. Her goal was to get Eddie and Richie to talk and eventually work things out by themselves, and she prayed it worked. 

Bev decided to bite the bullet, “Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah, Bev?” Eddie asked, still looking through the pile of clothes Bev had sewn.

Bev rested her chin in her hand as she spread out on her bed, “Are you and Richie okay?” 

She knew the answer to the question was obviously _no_ , but she was trying to cautiously gauge him into talking about it. 

Eddie looked down, “I…I don’t know. We haven’t talked since the concert.”

“I bet he’d really like to talk to you.” Bev wagered.

Eddie finally glanced over at Bev, “He’s just such an asshole sometimes. Its so frustrating because—”

“Because you know there’s more underneath? Yeah, I know.” Bev sighed, “He’s just scared to let anyone in.”

“But—” Eddie started.

“Uh-uh, nope,” She shook her head, “Talk to Richie about it. I’ve already said too much. He’d get mad at me if he knew I was talking to you about him.”

“You barely said anything at all!” Eddie exclaimed. 

Bev made a motion to show that she was zipping her lips closed and throwing away the key.

“Alright. Fine,” Eddie huffed, “What should we do now?”

“Do you wanna help me write a song?” Bev asked.

Eddie shrugged, “I don’t really know how.”

“You’re small and full of rage. I’m an angry bisexual feminist. I’m sure we can come up with something.” Bev shuffled through a messy stack of papers on her dresser, “I’ve had this idea for a while, but I can’t seem to make it go together. I have a bunch of verses, but I don’t know what to do for the chorus.”

_Hey I've got news, I'm not a little girl_

_And no, I won't give you a little twirl_

_You're talkin' to me like I'm sad_

_Hey I've got news, I'm not doin' too bad_

_Even though sometimes I might get real mad_

They looked over the words scribbled on the crumpled paper. Without a chorus, they seemed disconnected and jumbled. The message was clear, but the verses were disorganized.

_You're talkin' to me like I'm dumb_

_Well I've got news, I've got a lot to say_

_There's nothing you can do to take that away_

_You're talkin' to me like I'm hurt_

_Well at least I'm not six feet in the dirt_

_And I'll still kick your ass even in my skirt_

Eddie turned to her, “Well, I like the message.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” Bev laughed, “So, any ideas?”

“What about…hmm.” Eddie scrambled to look over Bev’s dresser for something to write with. He found a pen and sat back, tapping it against his chin.

_You're talking to me like a child_

_But my words are growing stronger_

_And my legs keep getting longer_

_I'm like nobody else, so you can just go fuck yourself_

_I do a lot of stupid stuff but don't act like you're so tough_

“Whoa! Where’d that come from?” Bev exclaimed as he put the pen back down.

Eddie’s cheeks began turning pink, “I don’t know.”

“You’re pretty cool, Eddie. Ya know that?” Bev grinned.

Eddie shook his head, “Shut up.”

Bev lightly punched Eddie on the shoulder, “I’m serious, ya punk. Not that I didn’t know it before, but you are. _Really_ cool.” 

“Yeah, whatever. My fanny pack and inhaler speak for themselves.” Eddie crossed his arms.

Bev shook her head, “But you’re unapologetically yourself, and not to sound cheesy, but that makes you pretty badass by itself.”

“Thanks, Bev.” Eddie shrugged, his face a lovely tomato red, “You’re _obviously_ a badass too.”

Now, it was Bev’s turn to blush, “You think?”

“Of course. Everyone does.” Eddie smiled.

Bev scoffed, “I don’t know why. I’m sorta crazy.”

“Listen, I know crazy. You are not it.” Eddie shook his head.

“Thanks, Eddie.” Bev smiled at him fondly, “Let’s check on our hair.”

They both unwrapped the towels from around their heads and tossed them into the pile. Bev’s eyes widened as she saw Eddie’s hair.

“Shit, what’s wrong?” Eddie’s hands flew to his head.

“Nothing! It looks great. It’s just…not the color we thought it’d be.” Bev worried her lip as a hand flew up to her own hair.

Eddie ran to the bathroom and cried out. Bev found him staring at himself in the mirror, raking his hands through his dyed waves.

“Pink?” Eddie groaned, “Why’d it have to be pink?”

“It looks really good, Eddie.” Bev placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“Your hair’s red, why did mine have to turn pink?” Eddie turned to Bev.

Bev glanced at herself in the mirror, and saw that her hair had darkened. It was a deep red, and it was exactly what she wanted. She felt a pang of guilt for talking Eddie into it.

Pushing her red hair out of her face, she looked back to Eddie, “Maybe we didn’t leave it on long enough, I told you—”

“Do _not_ make this my fault, Beverly Marsh.” Eddie pointed a finger at her, “Because it’s not.”

“Damn, you really _can_ be scary.” Bev mumbled.

“How scary can I be with pink hair?” Eddie grabbed at the lightened locks.

“Still pretty scary.” Bev tried to give him a smile.

Eddie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I actually kind of like it.” He resigned, “I just don’t want to get shit from the guys because of it.”

“They’re not gonna make fun of you.” Bev reassured him, “And if they do, I’ll kick their asses.”

“Thanks,” Eddie shook his head, finally smiling, “I think if I was into girls I’d be in love with you, Marsh. Maybe I’m in friend-love with you.”

Bev grinned, “I’m in friend-love with you too, Kaspbrak.”

 

Mike slung Bill’s guitar over his shoulders so it was resting on his back, the guitar strap on his front. Stan began leading them through the trees, towards the road.

The day was going so nicely until then. Mike had ridden his bike to meet Bill and Stan in the Barrens, where they’d spent a lazy afternoon, lounging around, listening to music and skipping rocks in the lake. 

Mike had also taken that time to write in his journal. He’d always been interested in writing, but he found that he liked writing non-fiction more so than fiction. He credited this to the amount of history books he’d spent reading in his youth—from the town’s own lore, to ancient history, to art history, he’d read it all. 

His chest had welled up in pride when Stan had called him a historian, and when Bill said he liked the journal idea. Mike admired the two so much.

Stan was a little quirky, in his mannerisms and his humor, but Mike loved it all the same: the way his corkscrew curls bobbed and created a halo when they were on stage or in the sunlight, the side of him that made biting jokes and sarcastic comments, and the side that listened to The Cure and went bird-watching. 

Bill was such a natural born leader, and he didn’t even try. He had immediately accepted Mike into the group, and they’d bonded over music. They spent countless afternoons together, just combing through Derry’s music store, looking through cassettes, records, and CDs, discovering new bands and musicians to listen to together.

“Oh shit, our bikes were in his trunk.” Stan groaned.

Mike sputtered, “You think he drove off without us?” 

“Did you hear him? He was pretty freaked out.” Stan said, a slight tone of annoyance in his voice.

“Yeah, why exactly is that?” Mike gave him a puzzled look.

Mike watched as Stan’s face flush, “I tried to hold his hand.”

Mike’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, “You—uh, oh. Uhm. Alright.”

Stan stopped, his back to Mike, “Look, Mike, I—”

“No, it’s okay. It’s fine. You and…Bill. Okay.” Mike nodded.

If he was being honest, Mike was crushed—although he wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was that if his friends were wrapped up in a relationships, they wouldn’t spend time with him anymore, or maybe Mike was jealous. Although of which one of them, he wasn’t sure.

He supposed he should’ve expected it, though. Stan seemed to have a soft spot for Bill, and vice versa. Maybe Mike was just the annoying third wheel. 

Mike quickly walked past Stan, continuing down the path, his jaw clenched.

“But Mike, I—” Stan started.

“I get it, Bill’s great. Obviously.” Mike chuckled bitterly, “I said it’s fine.”

“God, you’re _both_ so oblivious.” Stan muttered.

Mike was starting to get a little annoyed, “Look Stan, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I know it’s kinda your thing, but I’d really prefer it if you didn’t insult me.”

Stan had grabbed Mike’s hand as he attempted to stomp away, causing him to whip around. As much as Mike wanted to be mad, he couldn’t be. Stan had the softest, fond expression on his face, and a small smile played across his lips. 

Mike pressed his mouth into a firm line, “What?”

He watched as Stan took a small, tentative step forward. Stan bit his lip, like he was nervous, eyes darting over Mike’s face. Slowly, he raised a hand to rest on Mike’s shoulder, and Mike couldn't do anything but stare lamely.

His dark eyes widened as Stan’s eyes slid closed and he leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss on the corner of Mike’s mouth. Stan pulled pack, his cheeks pink and his eyes staring at the ground.

“Uhm. What?” Mike managed to squeak out.

“I want to hold your hand too, dummy.” Stan mumbled, “You and Bill. And me.”

Mike’s face erupted in a stupid smile as he gripped Stan’s hand in his, “Let’s go get our boy.”

 

Ben and Richie were sprawled out on Ben’s bedroom floor, eating sandwiches Ben’s mother had made them. She’d insisted on making them something to eat, and Richie had relished in it, sitting on a stool in the kitchen as she shook her head and told him how skinny he was.

Richie clearly loved the attention, but Ben didn’t really mind. He was just glad Richie was finally getting some good food to eat. Ben knew he usually went to Bill’s for dinner or lunch, but since the fight with Eddie, he hadn’t been over.

They’d retreated to Ben’s room once his mom left for her late shift. Crumbs fell from Richie’s mouth as he stuffed his face happily, humming as his eyes scanned the poem Ben had given him to look over. Ben watched as Richie’s eyes widened.

“You have a crush on Bev?” Richie asked, mouth full, “How did I not know that?”

“I figured you already did. Honestly, I thought I was being super obvious.” Ben shrugged, “Bill and Eddie figured it out.”

“Ah.” Richie tensed, “I guess I was too wrapped up in my own shit.”

Ben glanced over at him, “Oh, right. You and Eddie.”

“What?” Richie sputtered, “Me and Eddie what?”

Ben gave him a look that he hoped conveyed ‘duh?’, “That big fight you guys had?”

Richie relaxed, “Oh. Right.”

Ben rolled his eyes, “Not to mention the fact that you’re head over heels for each other but you’re both too dumb to realize it.”

“What?” Richie asked incredulously, “Eddie does not like me. Did you hear what he said that night?”

“I heard him say he didn’t want to be treated like a baby. Which is fair. You _do_ give him a lot of shit.” Ben looked at him pointedly.

“I—” Richie started.

“And see, _I_ know that you only do that because you like him, but he doesn’t. He just sees you teasing him.” Ben explained.

Richie opened his mouth to respond, “But—” 

Ben shrugged, “And let’s be real, Richie, pulling a girl’s pigtails isn’t the best way to get her attention.”

Richie adjusted his glasses, a sour look on his face, “Yeah, but Eddie’s not a girl. And besides, it’s just sort of how we work. I push his buttons and he pushes mine right back.”

“Except this time it backfired.” Ben gave Richie a sympathetic smile.

Richie threw his hands up, “Apparently.”

“You should apologize to him. He probably feels just as shitty as you do. You’re both pretty clueless.”

“Wow, Benny, you sure know how to make a guy feel special.” Richie rolled his eyes.

“Just being honest, man. If you want to feel special, try talking to Eddie.” Ben suggested.

“Stop! Ben, he’s been weird since I came out to you guys.” Richie said quietly, “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t, Richie.” Ben placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Just talk to him.”

“Okay, okay. Fine. But we’re not here to talk about me.” Richie turned to Ben, “You recruited me for a reason, good sir.”

“Well, you’re probably the loser closest to Bev. I just wanna know what to do.” Ben said, “I know she doesn’t like me back, but—”

“What makes you say that?” Richie’s face turned into one of confusion. 

“Well, you know.” Ben shrugged, his face turning red.

Richie tilted his head, “No. Not really.” 

“Look at _me_ , and then look at _Bev_.” Ben gestured around with his hands, “She’s way out of my league.”

“Let me tell you something, Benny boy.” Richie swung an arm around Ben’s shoulder, “Leagues are bullshit. They don’t mean anything except what you apply to them. Plus, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look. And besides, if there was anyone who couldn’t care _less_ about superficial shit like that, it’d be Bev.”

“She’s pretty great, huh?” Ben looked off dreamily, sighing.

“Yeah. She is.” Richie’s eyebrows furrowed, “Man, you’re really into her, huh?”

“Uh,” Ben stuttered, “Yeah.”

“Alright, well I’m gonna help you out, because I like you.” Richie said in some accent that he must’ve made up on the spot because Ben couldn’t identify it’s origins at all.

“Uh, thanks?” Ben laughed.

“Just call me cupid cause I’m gonna fire a love arrow into the both of ya.” Richie stood and put his hand to his head in a salute, “Sergeant Matchmaker, at your service.”

“No, no, no. I don’t want you meddling. I don’t want Bev to be forced into anything.” Ben shook his head, “I just need your advice.”

“Oh.” Richie sat down, “Seriously?”

“Just…should I tell her how I feel?” Ben asked sheepishly, “I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“Definitely. She’d wanna know.” Richie smiled, “And give her the poem.”

Ben paused for a moment and looked over his notebook.

“Okay…I have an idea.” Ben gave him a half smile, “You wanna write a song?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woah. lotta stuff happened. 
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> i hope the story is progressing okay and its consistent and everything ! 
> 
> i really want to explore and examine the friendships between all the losers, not just the “romantic" relationships. so look forward to future chapters with Eddie & Mike bonding and Bev & Rich & Stan hangin’ out. and more, probably. i just haven't planned ahead that much. 
> 
> the chapter title and the song Mike, Bill, and Stan listen to is Live Forever by Oasis. the lyrics Eddie and Bev write are from Seashore by The Regrettes (which is a great song btw). I'm gonna start writing more of the losers writing their own songs and stuff, and I'm very much NOT a song writer! so yeah I'm gonna b using real songs that I think fit the losers and their situations. 
> 
> feedback is appreciated! let me know if there are any mistakes. thanks :-)
> 
> -ro


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